


Verses of Burning Passion

by GabzJones



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Artist yuuri, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Honestly this is going to be a feel good experience, M/M, Romance, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Synesthesia, Yuuri paints and it's pretty and Victor is the source of all his inspiration so you know, but who would want to, just your usual gays in love, only in last chapter though, protective katsuki mari, victor still skates, you can skip the smut if you want honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabzJones/pseuds/GabzJones
Summary: For as long as Yuuri could remember, sounds had evoked colours. Hues blending into the world as someone spoke, painting the air with the sounds of life. Real, beautiful, terrifying all at once. Ever since he was a child, he'd had the desire to turn the things he sees into art, the wish to show the world what they can't see without his help.But the inspiration for his most beloved pieces was that of Victor Nikiforov; a figure skater dancing on the ice, creating art of his own. Yuuri just wanted to know Victor, to learn who he was through his art. He had no idea that Victor would one day see the art he'd been inspiring.





	1. Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story was written for YOI Pride Week. I really, really wanted to be part of this, and I'm SO excited to be able to post this fic. You'll get a new chapter every day, and I can't wait to hear what you think!
> 
> You get a gold star if you get the title's reference. ;)

**_Revelation; The making known of something that was previously secret or unknown._ **

 

Yuuri was twelve years old the first time he saw it; a glittering god in slow motion. Pale skin like porcelain, so beautiful, so precious. As though a single touch could shatter this divine creature. Long silver hair ebbed and flowed with his every movement, dancing through the colours that surrounded him, colours that swayed with him. The vibrant ruby hues twirled through the air around him, fading and growing with the music, licking at the charcoal fabric of his costume. The rhinestones adorning the outfit sparkled in the light of the rink, and that smile… If someone told Yuuri this figure was made of stardust, he’d believe it, everything about him so dazzling. He was a living, breathing work of art. 

There had never been anyone else who could move with the colours of the world around them like they did. And Yuuri knew that it would’ve been a whole other kind of beautiful if he was there, seeing this dance on the ice in the flesh, that there really was nothing quite like the real thing, but it didn’t matter. He was still so stunning, so mesmerising. Yuuri could think about nothing else for days. Working on his own art, it just didn’t feel right anymore. It felt like he had more to offer, that the world should be allowed to see the kind of beauty that he’d seen in that moment, but that he just couldn’t portray it himself. The paints were the wrong shades, the sketched figure didn’t hold themselves quite right.

Though he was young, Yuuri was determined to create art that could evoke the same response, to share the colours with the world. They were there always, moving around the room with every sound. The rest of the world just seemed to be ignorant to it, and though it was scary sometimes, he wanted them to see it, too. So, he painted. He painted every day, the things he saw; the colours swirling in the breeze and dragging through tree branches, the hues that splashed through a running stream of water, blending together and staining the world only to slowly fade away moments later, replaced by more of the same.

Seeing the skater moving on the ice felt like a turning point. Yuuri found himself sketching more often, attempting to perfect the human body. He needed to be able to draw people in all their shapes and sizes, but it wasn’t so simple. Hands in particular were causing him trouble, but he persisted, intent on one day being able to create the perfect piece; a painting of the beautiful skater who had danced into his life. Yuuri didn’t know much about figure skating, but once Yuuko had told him the captivating skater’s name was Victor Nikiforov, he found himself keeping a close eye on him, wanting to be witness to all the delicate dances, the stories he wove as he moved on the ice, the art he created with the ice as his canvas.

As the years went by, Yuuri’s talents grew. He never gave up on art, never stopped seeing the colours swirling around the world. And though he enjoyed painting the scenery in Hasetsu, the pale amber of a quiet breeze kissing at the pink cherry blossoms, the work he liked best was always a figure in bladed boots, holding themselves with poise as the colours of the music moved around them.

Katsuki Yuuri was becoming a well-known name in the field of art, a name synonymous with unusual colours blending into reality. It wasn’t unusual at all, though. It was simply the world through the eyes of a man who had become enamoured with the hues that sprang to life as sounds filled the air. For those who knew figure skating well, the character Yuuri always added to the paintings of ice dancers looked familiar, though he always denied it. Yuuri would admit to finding beauty in the act of figure skating, but denied ever having watched it closely enough to have a single muse for his art.

Despite his denial, the rumours continued.

Yuuri tried not to think about it. In the end, he was creating the artwork he’d been wanting to since he was a child, he’d been showing the world the things he saw, and despite his nerves, he’d relished the praise he’d received. His art was important to him; an extension of himself. But it was more than that. As he painted new scenes of the man he’d watched grow up on the ice, Yuuri felt like he knew Victor through his work. He’d watched as the colours changed with every piece, watched as Victor’s facial expressions changed to match the music, the tone, the story.

Watching Victor Nikiforov’s newest performance, Yuuri was just as entranced as ever, but for a different reason. It couldn’t be denied that Victor’s routines had slowly evolved. It was how you survived in a world like his; to stagnate would be to slowly die, and yet Yuuri could still see it happening. Victor’s moves on the ice were just as compelling as they’d always been, even without long hair flowing through the colours. As the footage on the screen moved closer, Yuuri could see not a trace of a smile, the smile that had swept him off his feet as a child. No, Victor looked…miserable. The music filling the room was just as downcast, dark blues swirling around him as he moved to the song, his every step perfection.

The crowd cheered as Victor landed jump after jump, the slightest trace of a smile appearing on his lips and Yuuri found himself shifting closer in his seat, hoping to see more of that smile, hoping that maybe the music would swell and change, and the colours would become lighter. But they didn’t. The music stayed sombre, the colours surrounding Victor reflecting the sound. There were tears in Yuuri’s eyes by the time the performance came to an end. He had been more than moved by what he’d witnessed. It was like watching an old friend’s desperate plea for help, but Yuuri didn’t know what was wrong. How could he help if he was so completely unaware?

Wiping away his tears, Yuuri switched off the screen in front of him, the colours instantly disappearing as he did. More than ever before, he wanted to help, but there was only one thing Yuuri knew how to do; paint.

* * *

 

“Are you feeling okay, Victor?” The soft voice of the outspoken redhead broke him from his daze. It had been a month since his last competition. Another gold to add to the pile. He should’ve been ecstatic, really. Victor Nikiforov was no doubt the most famous figure skater worldwide with a handful of gold medals under his belt. He held all the records. Victor was unbeatable. But being unbeatable wasn’t really what Victor was looking for.

The questions he’d been asked at the press conference after the last competition weighed heavily on his mind. What was Victor Nikiforov’s next goal going to be? Sparkling medals were nice, but they weren’t significant. Victor wanted something more, something exciting. Glancing over, he watched Mila as she lounged beside him, phone in hand, through her attention was focused on Victor, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” Mila’s smile grew as she sat up in her seat, scrolling through her phone with determination. Clearly, she’d been hoping he’d ask, “Your not-so-secret admirer seems to think you’re unhappy.”

Victor simply frowned, uncertain. It was no surprise that Victor Nikiforov had his fair share of admirers. With success, and an athlete’s body, he was considered quite the catch, but Victor never had time for things like that. Life got in the way of training, and he could never afford to let that happen. As much as he so desperately wanted to be a normal person, to see the world and all it has to offer without the anchor that had become world champion status holding him back, he couldn’t. It was always there in the back of his mind. Victor always had to be more than he was the last time he was on the ice. He always had to weave new tales, tell new stories, and surprise his audience in ways he’d never done before.

Surprise them in ways he’d never done before. Just the thought of it made his stomach churn. The only thing he could do now that would surprise his audience would be to lose.

Mila seemed to notice the faraway look in his eyes as Victor thought about his successful career and not so successful personal life, thrusting her phone into his field of view. At first, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. It looked like… himself? Hesitantly, he took the phone from her hand, using his fingers to zoom in on the picture lit up on the screen. It wasn’t him exactly. The image was a close up of a man’s profile, silver hair cascading delicately, obscuring the man’s face from view. The golden epaulette adorning his shoulder was still visible against soft pink fabric, the gold draping down the magenta of the figure’s sleeve. The pinks of the outfit were covered in sparkles, like stardust, an ethereal being with features concealed, but Victor could tell it was supposed to be him. But that wasn’t what had caught his attention.

In the painting, Victor’s head hung low. Though his posture remained graceful, there was a touch of sadness to the man. This was made all the more apparent by the dark colours surrounding him; blue hues tinged with blacks and purples. It was like this figure, this version of himself really was a star, surrounded by the loneliness of a night sky devoid of others twinkling like him. Alone. That’s what this picture said. It didn’t just say it, it screamed it. Victor was alone. And whoever had made this image knew it.

“Are… are there others?” Victor’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes trained on the forlorn figure on the screen.

“Oh yeah, lots. The artist denies any of them are you. Only this one,” Mila smiled, shifting closer and resting her head against his shoulder, “He made it a little obvious this time.”

“What do you mean?”

Mila reached out, brushing her finger against the phone screen and scrolling down until the name of the painting was visible.

_Stay Close to Me_

Victor wordlessly dropped the phone into Mila’s hand, getting to his feet and moving across the room without a second thought. He could vaguely hear her calling out to him, but he couldn’t think about that. Not now. He’d just learned that there was someone in the world who had been painting pictures of him. Beautiful pictures. Beautiful pictures which portrayed all the emotions he thought he’d kept hidden away. This person knew him better than anyone else ever had, and Victor didn’t even know who they were. But he needed to. He had to. Victor needed answers.

* * *

 

Yuuri had a lot he needed to be doing. There were only a few months before he was supposed to be unveiling an exhibition. His own exhibition. An exhibition made entirely of his own art. It was an opportunity he couldn’t possibly pass up, but Yuuri had to admit, he wasn’t fond of any of his recent pieces. He’d even sat on the piece of Victor after his free skate because he wasn’t sure if it should ever see the light of day. Yuuri was in a creative rut. He didn’t know what it was he wanted to paint, didn’t know what would make a beautiful piece.

Of course, Victor did. He always did. He was the most stunning muse Yuuri had ever had, but he wasn’t so sure he could keep painting Victor’s sadness. After spending so much time getting to know a complete stranger through art, Yuuri didn’t want to see his pain. More than that, Yuuri didn’t want to share it with the world. It still felt wrong that he’d shared the last piece. There was only one reason he had; the possibility that Victor would see it, would see it’s title and realise that there was at least one person in the world who could see him. Really see him. Victor needed to know he wasn’t alone.

Yuuri should’ve been working on a painting. He knew he should’ve if he wanted to meet the deadline, but his inspiration was running a little low. What was he supposed to paint about? He’d already painted most of Hasetsu. Instead, Yuuri sat in the middle of a field, watching the butterflies frolicking in the flowers. If he let his imagination run wild, he could imagine them as fairies dancing from petal to petal. He smiled to himself as he carefully sketched the scene into his notebook.

“Yuuri!” A splotch of emerald caught at the corner of his vision as he heard his name being called, the familiar voice of his sister, “There’s someone who wants to see you. Something about a commission.”

Yuuri frowned. He didn’t have time for that and she knew it. Yuuri already had enough commitments. His time was entirely occupied by his need to create new pieces for that exhibition. Whoever this potential client was, they didn’t need to know he was wasting time drawing butterflies instead of focusing on what really mattered. He sighed softly, looking down at the half drawn scene on the page, “I’m not taking commissions right now, Mari.”

“I know, but he was really insistent. Besides, you kinda owe him.”

Now, that was something Yuuri hadn’t ever heard before. He tried not to owe people things. In fact, Yuuri liked to think that he helped people more than he ever asked in return. It was just the way he was; quiet, shy, but desperate to impress. He couldn’t think of anyone he actually owed any favours to. Yuuri looked over at the expanse of flowers, seeing that some of the butterflies had moved on and sighing sadly. Maybe he could add some of them in from his imagination. Getting to his feet, Yuuri dusted off the rear of his jeans, holding the notepad to his chest as he turned to face his sister and this person he supposedly owed.

It was like a dream. In fact, that’s what it was. It had to be, because works of art didn’t come to life. Works of art stayed something out of reach, something beautiful and wonderful, something you dream of being part of your world, so close to tangible but unable to be touched. Art was in the imagination, brought to life on canvas and nothing more. Art wasn’t meant to be a real person standing before him, silver hair moving delicately through amber breeze, eyes that perfect soft, warm shade of blue he’d only ever managed to accidentally blend paints to create once before. So uniquely his, and so, so much prettier in person.

Victor Nikiforov. In the flesh. With a fluffy poodle sitting at his side. Well, that wasn’t something Yuuri had expected to see. The book fell through his fingers, dropping pathetically to the ground as he stared in awe at the man who had inspired years of work, the man he’d been so driven to understand in the only way he knew how, “V-Victor…”

“Oh, so you do know who I am? It wasn’t just a fluke?”

The lilt of Victor’s Russian accent was so pretty, but not as pretty as the sound itself. A gentle purple filled the air as he spoke, the shade of lilacs or maybe lavender. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure how to place that tinge of purple, but it was beautiful, and oh, it suited him.

“I… I…” Yuuri wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe he was starstruck. Maybe it was the fact that this man had been the subject of so many paintings. Yuuri didn’t know. He glanced over at his sister, seeing the apologetic smile on her face and wondering if Victor was angry. That had to be it. He was angry. Yuuri had been using his likeness without his permission. Sure, he’d done his best to hide the fact that it was Victor, but if you looked close enough, you could tell. Especially with that last picture. In fact, Yuuri didn’t really try to hide it in that one, “I’m sorry. I can take the paintings down, and if you want any compensation--”

“What? No! No, that’s not why I came here.”

Yuuri stared in awe at Victor. Real Victor, not painting Victor. Real Victor standing just a few steps away from him, a gentle smile on those pretty lips, that flawless skin, and oh my god he’s real. It wasn’t just some weird childhood crush, some pedestal he’d put Victor on from that moment. The man standing in front of him had the same otherworldly beauty that had inspired him from the beginning. Without thinking, Yuuri spoke the question that was screaming in his mind, though his voice was breathless, “Then why…?”

“Like your sister said, I’m here to commission you,” Victor’s smile was the smile Yuuri had always seen on screen, something out of reach, something… not real.

Looking down at the grass, Yuuri chewed his lip nervously, “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have the time for commissions right now. I have an exhibition to prepare for, but if you like, I can get back to you when I’m not so busy,” It felt strange to almost be talking business with the vessel of his inspiration. Really, he should be on his hands and knees, praising this godly being for his existence and all the picturesque scenes he’d helped create.

“Tell me something, Yuuri,” He probably would’ve taken the time to relish the way the colours spilled into existence as Victor spoke his name, but Victor was stepping closer, and all Yuuri could focus on was that he was so close, he could touch him. But if he did, maybe Victor would disappear, so Yuuri did his best to restrain himself, staring up into those intense eyes, “Your last painting. ‘Stay Close to Me.’ Why was it so sad?”

Yuuri averted his eyes, unsure of how to answer the question. He painted his reality. That particular painting had been one of the hardest he’d ever done, simply because it pained him to see Victor like that, to know that there was anguish hidden beneath this seemingly perfect man. Yuuri gave the only answer he had, “I paint what I see. That’s what I saw.”

Silence fell between them, a silence that filled Yuuri with uncertainty. He just wanted to know what Victor was thinking. After spending so much time watching him dance on the ice, he thought he knew Victor, but in that moment, Yuuri had never felt so much distance, a stark contrast to their very real proximity.

And then Victor smiled. A real, heartwarming smile. Yuuri could’ve sworn his knees went a little weak at the sight of it, “Alright, then I’ll be your muse for the exhibition.”

“...What?”

The smile only grew, Victor practically bouncing in his own excitement at his apparently brilliant idea, “You’ve painted me before. What could be better than having me here? I’ll be yours to use however you see fit. Allow me to be your muse, Yuuri Katsuki.”


	2. Overcoming

**_Overcoming; Succeed in dealing with (a problem or difficulty)._ **

 

Victor Nikiforov was known for being an incredibly talented figure skater, an undefeated champion. He was an athlete. Yuuri had always expected athletes to be really serious, to focus entirely on training and not have much time for anything else. Victor wasn’t like that at all. He certainly seemed to be a serious person when it came to his skating, but as Yuuri watched him excitedly exploring his hometown, he seemed more like a child let loose in a candy store. It was incredibly endearing, but so confusing. 

The last time Yuuri had seen Victor skate, he looked so sad, like the whole world was on his shoulders. So, why was he so happy and full of life now? Did Victor not like skating? That didn’t make much sense. No one who moved with as much emotion as Victor did could hate what they do. Not without it coming to light in his performance, and Victor had never emoted frustration or anger. 

Yuuri walked behind Victor, simply watching him as they walked along the bridge Yuuri had passed over every day. This whole town was his life, nothing here was new to him. Victor, though. Victor was different. He came in like a strong breeze and swept Yuuri off his feet. He figured he could get away with hanging back and just watching Victor. If Victor asked anything, he could simply say that watching him helped his artistic process. It wasn’t exactly a lie, and this was a side of Victor he’d never been able to witness before. Yuuri was so sure he’d run out of things to paint, that he’d lost his inspiration. He had no idea that there was still so much more to learn about this beautiful man who had made so much of his art possible.

Victor’s poodle, he said her name was Makkachin, hung back, walking beside Yuuri as they watched Victor stop every few steps to look around at the view of the town. It took them no time to catch up when Victor stopped for a moment longer than he had before, Yuuri standing beside him as he looked out at the town, “It looks better at night. All the houses light up like stars…”

Glancing over, Yuuri found himself staring into soft blue eyes. They were so much prettier in real life, filled with all the emotions he couldn’t possibly begin to understand that were hidden under the surface. There was a sparkle in those eyes as a smile tugged at the corner of Victor’s lips, “Sounds romantic.”

The colour rose to Yuuri’s cheeks before he could think of anything to say in response. He averted his gaze from those terribly distracting eyes, looking back out at the scenery as he cleared his throat, trying to form an intelligible sentence, “I-I um, I think it’s pretty all the time, really. But I prefer night time. It’s peaceful and the colours stand out a lot better.”

“Yuuri,” Victor’s voice alone was enough to compel Yuuri to look over, seeing the small smile on Victor’s lips and wondering what in the world he was thinking about, “You’ve been watching me for a while, haven’t you?”

The blush wasn’t going anywhere as long as Victor was asking him embarrassing questions like that. Yuuri averted his gaze, resting his arms against the barrier of the bridge, looking out at the town as he tried to find the right words, “You make it sound creepy. I only watched your programs. I never even heard you talk before now,” Yuuri admitted, looking down at his arms and chewing his lip nervously. He supposed he did owe Victor the truth. After building his career on Victor’s beauty, he owed him everything, “I was twelve when I first saw you. The way you moved with the colours… It was everything I wanted to show the world. You see it every day with nature. Sounds and movement work together, synchronised, and it’s beautiful. It is,” Yuuri sighed softly, resting his head against his arms, “But for a person to be able to do that… without even realising it…”

“I don’t really understand, but it sounds nice.” Victor rubbed the back of his neck, smiling apologetically.

Yuuri turned to him, eyes trained on the man who had meant so much to him since his childhood, “You don’t move to the music. You move  _ with _ it. You understand it. You become it. That’s… that’s what drew me to you. That’s why I started painting you,” He looked down at the dog beside him, realising how utterly embarrassing he sounded, “That’s all.”

A silence fell between them, and Yuuri wasn’t sure what to make of it. The only sound for a long moment was the amber breeze brushing by them, caressing at Victor’s hair as it passed by. How did every colour seem to look so pretty when paired with Victor Nikiforov? Yuuri had been so sure it was just his imagination, that he’d been so desperate to see beauty in someone that he’d simply attached his wants to Victor, but it wasn’t like that at all. If he thought Victor was a work of art on television screens, it was nothing compared to reality. While it had looked like the colours moved with him on the screen, it was so much more real now. It was like all the colours in the atmosphere could see how wonderful Victor was and ached to become part of his world. Yuuri couldn’t blame them. Victor’s hair looked soft and he kinda wanted to touch it, too.

Victor’s gaze was intense. Yuuri was starting to wonder if maybe he’d said too much, maybe he sounded crazy. He probably did. Most people didn’t understand what he meant when he talked about colours. Victor smiled, “I’m flattered. I hope I can help you create something special for your exhibition.”

“You can,” The words left Yuuri without a second thought. He knew it was true. All of his best work had been inspired by the man standing before him. If there was anyone who could help him make beautiful art, it was Victor.

* * *

 

It should’ve come as no surprise to Yuuri that word would get out about Victor’s decision to take time off and help with his exhibition. It should’ve been obvious that people wouldn’t be happy about it. And really, he should’ve known that people would find out where Victor was and come in search of answers. Looking back on it, Yuuri knew all those things were extremely obvious. He’d just gotten swept up in everything. Victor had come all the way to Japan to see him. He’d decided to stay there to help him. Following this person he had no idea could be so real around the town he’d grown up in had taken priority in Yuuri’s mind. The need to understand how all this could be happening was stronger than any kind of logic. So, when they made their way to the onsen Yuuri had grown up in, he hadn’t expected all the paparazzi. 

It wasn’t that Yuuri wasn’t used to talking to press. He’d been interviewed a few times before because of his art, but it had always been on his own terms. Mari had been there, had talked them through Yuuri’s rules. But that didn’t happen this time. Instead, the crowd of people caught sight of the pair of them together and rushed in their direction, cameras flashing as they all rushed to ask questions. So many questions. Some were aimed at Victor, others at Yuuri, and it was all too much. This wasn’t how Yuuri did these things. Reporters rushed to speak over each other, all manner of colours blending together, pushing for their moment, mixing into a mess of purples, greens, browns, yellows, every colour Yuuri could imagine. They were all there, all rushing at him, attacking his senses as they became more and more insistent.

Yuuri needed help. He needed to get out, but with so many colours burning into his line of sight, he didn’t even know how to move forward. Instinctively, he reached for Victor, gripping the sleeve of his shirt like a lifeline, “Mari!”

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?” He could hear Victor’s soothing voice, feel his hand brush against his own. Victor’s hand was so soft and normally that probably would’ve reassured him, but there was still so much noise around him, still so many colours fighting for attention in his vision. 

Yuuri felt the panic spike within him as a hand gripped his arm, “Yuuri, it’s me. Focus on my voice, okay? I’m gonna get you outta here.”

The sound of his sister’s voice was comforting and Yuuri tried his best to focus on the familiar emerald colour that came with it, his legs moving automatically as he followed the tug of her hand on his arm. The voices around him were still so loud and Yuuri had already closed his eyes in an attempt to block it all out, but the colours remained, still dancing behind his eyelids, still desperate for attention. Yuuri could feel people brushing by him, or was he brushing by them? He couldn’t be sure. His senses were all over the place.

As he was pulled inside, it still felt so loud, so stifling. It was like being trapped in a small box, surrounded by people demanding he get them out. But he couldn’t. He didn't know how. He was trapped and he just wanted it all to go away. Eventually, he heard a door close behind him and Mari let go of his arm. Yuuri knew the drill. He’d been through this before, though he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen again. Whenever the sensations became too much, whenever he fell into these panics, Mari would take him into a back room, a quiet room. She’d dim the lights and stay with him until he felt safe. 

Yuuri took up his usual spot on the floor in the corner of the room, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face within them. It was a fear that always came when the colours became overwhelming; the fear of opening his eyes, of letting them in. He didn’t want to be overcome by the colours. As beautiful as they were, in these moments of fear, they were menacing. 

“Is he okay?” The Russian lilt was immediately recognizable. Victor was there, and this was not the kind of impression Yuuri wanted to make. But his mind was focused on the colours, on how badly he wanted them to go away, his fingers gripping his knees, gritting his teeth as he clenched his eyes shut, hoping that somehow it would make it all stop. But it wouldn’t. Yuuri knew what this was like, that he’d have to wait to calm down if he wanted things to be okay. He should’ve expected this. He should’ve been prepared. But he wasn’t.

“The synesthesia. When there’s too much sound, it gets to be too much for him,” Mari’s voice was soft, the tone she always took on when she was trying to take care of him, “Can you stay here with him while I deal with those vultures?”

Yuuri didn’t hear an answer from Victor, but a moment later, the door closed. It was the first time Mari hadn’t stayed with him when he was like this. Usually she was there through it all, making sure he was feeling safe, but this time, she was gone. He didn’t know how to feel. Yuuri knew that she’d left to help him, to get those people out of there and give them the space they needed, but it felt so strange to not have his big sister by his side. After all these years, he still relied on her in his time of need.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice was gentle, obviously taking the lead from Mari, “I need you to tell me how you’re feeling so I can help.”

There weren’t words for it. Not really. It was all just so overwhelming. He just wanted to hide from it all until it went away, but Yuuri didn’t know when it would go away. He didn’t know when it would be safe to open his eyes again, and there was a constant fear that if he did open his eyes, he’d be bombarded by the colours again. Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat as he felt Victor’s hand brush over his own, “I… I can’t think… right now…”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t much of an answer, either. A moment later, he felt the weight of Victor leaning against him. He must’ve sat beside him, an oddly welcome sensation. Yuuri shied away from most people when he was like this for so many reasons. It was embarrassing. He didn’t trust most people to see him when he was overwhelmed, didn’t trust them to understand. In fact, he was sure Victor didn’t get it, but it was too late now. Mari had asked him to stay, and Yuuri didn’t want to be alone. 

“I don’t know how to look after people when they’re like this,” Victor admitted, and it came as little surprise. But a moment later, Yuuri felt Victor take his hand, guiding it until his fingers were tangled in soft fur, “But petting Makkachin always makes me feel better when I’m upset.”

Without thinking, Yuuri moved his fingers through the poodle’s curls, feeling the dog move closer. She was kind enough not to jump on Yuuri in his time of anguish, instead resting her head on his knee and letting him gently pet her, the slow movement soothing him. Victor was right. It helped. It took his mind off all the colours that had been invading his vision. Instead, he was able to focus on a different sense; the soft feeling of Makkachin’s fur beneath his fingertips.

“I’d be jealous if she wasn’t sitting on me. She likes you a lot,” Yuuri knew Victor was mostly trying to reassure him, trying to take his mind off everything that had set him off, but it was okay. It was better than dwelling on it, living in that fear and letting it consume him for as long as it possibly could. 

“She’s a good girl.”

“You think you can open your eyes now?” Victor’s voice remained soft, quiet, a tone Yuuri had never heard before, but it was beautiful and enticing. 

Not enticing enough.

Yuuri hid his face in his knees, shaking his head, It was fear, he knew it was. He had nothing to be afraid of. Every time this happened, Mari took him away to a place where the colours couldn’t get to him anymore, but the fear remained. It still took time for him to willingly open his eyes again. Tears stung at his eyes. Yuuri was so tired of feeling weak all the time, of feeling like he couldn’t handle even the simplest of things. A group of paparazzi shouldn’t turn anyone into the mess he was. He should’ve been used to it, prepared for it. No doubt, Victor would be thinking about just how worthless he was, how much of a mistake it was to pause his career for someone this fragile.

“That’s fine. Take your time. I just miss looking at them is all,” Victor’s voice was...thoughtful? As though he was considering everything he was saying very carefully, “I never thought I’d find brown eyes so pretty before.”

Yuuri shifted his fingers through Makkachin’s fur as he listened to Victor’s voice, a voice that was becoming more entrancing the more he heard it. Victor really was perfection, “My eyes are boring.”

“No, not at all. They’re such a rich brown, like… ground coffee. Which you know, if one of the most welcoming things to start your morning with,” Yuuri heard a soft chuckle, his heart skipping a beat at the gentle sound, “But they have these little… golden flecks in them if you look close enough. Like honey? Hm, no… deeper than that. Caramel maybe?”

Yuuri was captivated by Victor’s voice. He’d never heard anyone say anything like that about him before, never thought anyone ever would. Yuuri was boring. Yuuri was just a regular guy, there was nothing really special about him. Only that he saw the things that others didn’t, but there were times when that was a burden; times like these. Yuuri hesitantly looked up from his knees, seeing Victor looking back at him. The colours weren’t there anymore. They weren’t trying to force their way into Yuuri’s vision. 

Victor reached out, taking Yuuri’s glasses and carefully placing them beside him before brushing away the tears that had escaped Yuuri’s eyes, “There they are. An artist even more alluring than his art.”

Yuuri blushed, biting his lip as he looked back down at the poodle resting against his knee, “If that’s true, I’m not doing a good enough job.”

“No, I don’t think anything could compare. You’re doing great,” Victor reassured, resting his head against Yuuri’s shoulder, “So, when you said I moved with the colours…”

“I meant it.”

“You meant it,” Victor hummed softly, “You’re so full of surprises, Yuuri.”

Looking down at the dog laying on both of them, Yuuri smiled, “I’m not the only one. You didn’t have to say all those nice things.”

Victor nodded to himself, his own fingers brushing along Makkachin’s back, “I wasn’t just saying it. Your eyes are… well, they’re the kind of eyes that make people fall in love with brown ones. I may be ruined for any other colour.”

“I’d say the same about yours, but I can’t really see you without my glasses.”

Victor chuckled, that pretty lilac purple filtering into the air, but it wasn’t threatening like the other colours. No, it was gentle, warm, a colour that was so soothing, Yuuri wished he could bathe in it, enjoy every pigment of the unique colour, “Will you show me what you see?”

It was hard to show people the colours he saw. Yuuri liked to think he was doing an okay job of it in his art, but that wasn’t the same. Not really. It wasn’t the same as seeing it in person, of watching the colours move by, of seeing them appear and slowly dissolve away. Some were beautiful, some weren’t. They all had their place, though the ones Yuuri saw when in the middle of a crowd were his least favourite of all. Yuuri smiled to himself, enjoying the warm feeling of the dog on their laps, of Victor resting against him, “I can try.”

“Yuuri?” He looked up as the door opened, his sister standing in the doorway and watching the pair of them sitting together. Mari eyed the two of them carefully, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Yuuri did his best to smile reassuringly. He wasn’t perfect, things weren’t better. Yuuri still felt a little shaken, and he knew he was going to have to keep away from too much noise for the rest of the day, but he was at least better than he had been a moment before, “Are they gone?”

Mari smirked, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe, “Of course. Coast is clear. They won’t be bothering you anymore. If they come back, just let me know, okay?”

“I’m sorry to cause so much trouble,” Victor stared intensely at Mari, as though a silent discussion was being shared between them. Victor meant more than what he said. More than an apology for bringing the press to their door. He was sorry for hurting Yuuri, for causing this panic. 

Mari rolled her eyes, “They were after you, too. Not your fault. Just take care of Yuuri, okay? Don’t let him work too hard.”

Yuuri smiled fondly as he watched her leave, “Thanks, Mari.”


	3. Yes

**_Yes; The process or fact of being received as adequate, valid, or suitable._ **

 

Two weeks. Victor had been in Yuuri’s life for two weeks. Yuuri was working fast and had already managed to finish two paintings and get started on another. It was true; having Victor there was the perfect motivator. The colours felt so much more real. They danced even more beautifully in person. When Yuuri worked on paintings of Victor as he watched Victor move on the ice in person, it felt… easy. He didn’t have to think about the way the colours would blend with Victor, didn’t have to think about the way they would float through the air differently than they did on a screen. Victor was there, real, and so beautiful. He was really there.

Victor had to work hard for it. Yuuri had asked him to find music that speaks to him, and to skate whatever he felt. Admittedly, Yuuri just wanted to see what Victor would come up with. He wanted to know what music best spoke to Victor, how he was feeling. After the sadness in the last painting, Yuuri was scared of what he’d find. It had been so painful to see Victor look so lost on the ice before they met. Yuuri wasn’t sure he could paint something like that again. The song Victor chose remained cold, a tinge of sadness to it, but there was something more there. Something Yuuri wanted to believe was hope.

Knocking at the door to Victor’s room, Yuuri hesitantly opened the door, peering inside, “Victor?”

Maybe it was a little bold of him, but he’d known Victor for two weeks now, and most of that time, Victor had been flirting shamelessly with him. Or maybe Yuuri was reading into things too much. That was definitely a possibility. He’d never spent so much time with someone before, but Yuuri wanted to see him, wanted to talk to him about his ideas for the next few paintings they’d be working on. It was nice to hear Victor’s thoughts. He always sounded so positive, but he wasn’t afraid to point out the flaws. It was something Yuuri had been missing, something that made his art all the better. A connection.

The first thing Yuuri noticed as he slowly entered the room was how dark it was; the only lights coming through the window beside the bed. He could make out the shape of Makkachin at the end of the bed, made even more apparent as her tail began to thump back and forth in her excitement. Victor, however, had remained still under the blankets, the soft sound of snoring filling the room, so quiet Yuuri almost had to strain to hear it. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it weren’t for the colour; amber like the breeze with a tinge of pink. It hadn’t crossed Yuuri’s mind until that moment; just how late it was. He was so used to staying up late working, it just felt like the usual time to be awake, but there Victor was, sound asleep. Yuuri should’ve left. He should’ve gone back to his room before he did something to wake Victor up, but he was captivated by the sight.

As he crossed the room, getting a better sight of the man slumbering before him, Yuuri took in all the little details. Victor was laying mostly on his stomach and Yuuri wondered if that was nearly as comfortable as he made it look. An arm was hanging over the side of the bed, Victor’s head rested gently against the pillows. His silver hair fell messily into his eyes, shadows of long eyelashes against pale cheeks, and Yuuri silently wished he could see the pale blue of them, those stunning eyes that had captivated him from the moment they’d met. Even with them closed, Victor was mesmerising. His lips were parted just slightly, soft rose gold filling the air with his gentle snores and slowly fading away. He was adorable, pretty. Yuuri couldn’t look away.

If anyone asked, Yuuri wouldn’t have an answer for why he did it, but watching Victor, he felt compelled. It was as though there really was only one option for him. With great care, Yuuri carefully pulled a chair beside the bed, sitting down and watching Victor closely. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe this was ridiculous, in fact, he was sure it was, but Victor was a work of art. A beautiful, incredible work of art sleeping so peacefully, looking so content, and Yuuri hadn’t ever gotten to use that before. He’d always been so careful to hide Victor’s face, to ensure no one knew it was him in the paintings, but now he didn’t have that constraint. Victor had agreed to help him. He’d allowed Yuuri to use his likeness.

Yuuri was already holding his sketchbook with every intention of going through some ideas with Victor. Instead, he flipped it open to an empty page, taking his pencil and carefully setting to work on a new piece. Victor was so mesmerising and Yuuri had never had a chance to draw him like this before. Always side glances, silhouettes, but Yuuri wanted to capture his essence, to immortalise this moment. There was nothing about Victor that wasn’t beautiful. If Victor didn’t like it, he didn’t have to put it in the exhibition, but Yuuri at least wanted to draw it, to have it. Working on the sketch wasn’t easy in the dark, but it helped that Victor was so still, and luckily Makkachin hadn’t woken him up in her excitement. All Yuuri could do was work and hope he could get away before Victor woke.

Unfortunately, things don’t always work out the way we want them to, especially when you’re Yuuri Katsuki.

It wasn’t that Victor woke, not exactly. Somewhere along the way, Yuuri had dozed off, his head lulling gently to rest beside Victor on the bed with his sketchbook as a not so comfortable pillow. When Victor woke the following morning, he was greeted with the sight of a dark mop of hair at his side. He blinked a few times, trying to figure out if he was still asleep. Maybe it was just a dream. Victor certainly hadn’t been expecting to wake up with Yuuri at his side. Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, he took a moment to appreciate his situation. There was a cute boy asleep beside him, unfortunately not in his bed, but close enough. Yuuri still had his glasses on, crooked on his face. That meant he obviously didn’t intend to fall asleep there. Then Victor caught sight of the sketchbook and it started to make sense. Yuuri had been up all night working.

Carefully shifting on the bed, Victor sat up, trying not to wake up. Yuuri spent so much time watching the world, Victor wondered if he ever took a moment to look at himself, wondered what Yuuri would see if he ever did. Without thinking, he reached out, gently brushing slender fingers through dark hair. It was strangely reassuring. Victor found himself thinking he could get used to this; waking up with Yuuri beside him. Maybe it wasn’t something he should be thinking, maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but Yuuri knew him better than anyone else ever had, and Victor hadn’t realised how nice it was to have someone who understood him before. Yuuri was one of a kind. 

Before Victor could stop it, Makkachin was bounding over him to reach Yuuri, sniffing at him before licking his cheek. Yuuri mumbled incoherently, gently swatting at the poodle. It seemed to be enough to persuade her to stop, stepping away and instead curling up on the other side of Victor, her head rested gently against his leg as she watched Yuuri.

At first, Victor was uncertain of whether he should wake Yuuri up, knowing how embarrassed he’d no doubt be, but the decision was quickly taken from him. Apparently Makkachin had already done enough to wake Yuuri, it just took a few moments. Yuuri’s eyes slowly fluttered open, soft chocolate brown looking around the room in a daze as Yuuri tried to figure out where he was. And then it seemed to hit him. Yuuri shot up quickly, a blush rising to his cheeks as he snatched his sketchbook from the bed.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Victor smirked, watching as Yuuri straightened his glasses, “You uh, you’ve got something on your face.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide and he quickly wiped at his cheek, “What? What is it?”

Victor chuckled, shrugging, “I think maybe sleeping on your drawings isn’t the best thing for you.”

The small smudge of graphite on Yuuri’s cheek stubbornly remained in place despite his attempts to rub it away, but Victor just thought it added to his charm. Yuuri pouted, looking down at the book now sitting in his lap, “I’m sorry, this is probably really creepy, I didn’t mean to fall asleep here. Not that I was trying to hide it from you! I-I just don’t want you to think I do this often. Because I don’t. Never!”

“If you wanted to sleep with me, you could’ve just got under the blankets,” Victor raised an eyebrow as he watched Yuuri stammer over his words, “Can I see what you drew?”

Yuuri stared at the book, chewing his lip nervously, “It’s not finished. And I don’t have to use the idea if you don’t want me to. I just...saw you and knew I had to draw you.”

Victor’s smile was fond as he watched Yuuri, seeing how shy he could get about his work. He’d already seen plenty of it, enough to know that Yuuri was talented, more talented than he realised, “Please? I said I’d model for you, I don’t mind. I just want to know what you see when you look at me.”

Yuuri seemed nervous. It was almost strange to think that Yuuri could still be nervous of his work when so many people had told him how good he was. Victor was so used to sharing his talent with the world, it felt odd to see someone trying to hide theirs away, especially when Yuuri could create such real, palpable art. Though his nerves were obvious, Yuuri handed Victor the sketchbook, keeping his gaze averted. 

Victor wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to find. It was exactly what Yuuri saw; a sketch of Victor asleep. His hair was swept into his eyes, and he looked so… content. It was such a peaceful, serene image, one that Victor hadn’t expected to see, especially of himself. Was that really what Yuuri saw when he looked at him? Victor smiled as he handed the book back to him, “You see me a lot prettier than I really am.”

“That’s not true,” Yuuri spoke without hesitation, his voice soft but filled with sincerity, “You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so. Even when you’re hurting, you’re beautiful. I just don’t like drawing you when you’re like that.”

His words took Victor off guard, “Why not? Your picture for my free skate was amazing.”

It really was. Victor couldn’t deny how stunning the painting was, even if it was so filled with sadness. Yuuri had captured him perfectly, had shown that he knew exactly what Victor was feeling. It was something that no one else had ever given to him; a sense of understanding, camaraderie. Yuuri knew him better than he knew himself, and that painting was proof of that.

Yuuri finally looked up, his eyes meeting Victor’s, “Because it hurts me, too.”

* * *

 

“When I agreed to be your model, this wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Yuuri glanced up from the canvas in front of him, watching Victor’s still frame. It was different from the other days. He’d always been asking Victor to skate, to see how he was feeling, but this was something different. He simply had Victor sitting in front of him, allowing him the time to see every little detail of Victor’s face. It was almost frustrating that every single angle was perfect, that Victor didn’t have a bad side. How could anyone be so effortlessly pretty? It really was like having a god for a model. 

Yuuri used one of his smaller paint brushes as he worked on the piece, doing his best to capture every minute detail. Victor was perfection, and he wanted more than anything to do him justice, “I always tried to hide who you were before. I’ve never gotten to make a painting that’s just… you.”

Victor hummed softly, his eyes trained on Yuuri. There was one problem with this particular task. Victor was pretty terrible at sitting still for long periods of time. Yuuri had already had to tell him to stop moving, to stay still, to stop fidgeting, to stop complaining. Victor was like a toddler. Yuuri wouldn’t admit that he found it kind of adorable. Sure enough, as Yuuri looked up from his painting again, he could see that Victor had moved just a little bit. Sighing softly, Yuuri dropped his paintbrush on the table beside him and got to his feet.

“You’re done already?” Victor asked curiously, clearly surprised at the very thought. Yuuri tended to work all day and well into the night on his art.

“Not even close,” Yuuri stepped around his canvas, moving to stand in front of Victor, “You moved again.”

“I did?” Victor seemed so genuinely oblivious to his movements, Yuuri couldn’t be upset with him. He may have been terrible at staying still, but there was no model in the world who could truly compare to Victor.

Yuuri reached out, carefully brushing his fingers through silver hair as he attempted to get it to sit the way it had been moments before. He couldn’t blame Victor’s hair falling in his face on him. It wasn’t exactly something he had a lot of control over, but Yuuri wanted to see those eyes, wanted to be able to paint that beautiful shade of blue. It would be tricky to blend that perfect hue, but he’d do his best. It was a challenge he wanted to take on.

Victor smiled up at him as Yuuri played with his hair and it took all Yuuri’s self control to focus on the task at hand, “This is why I always had videos of you that I could just pause.”

Victor pouted, “Videos aren’t as good as the real thing.”

Yuuri smiled to himself as he finally got Victor’s hair to sit right, moving his hands down to his shoulders and making sure Victor’s stance hadn’t changed, “Maybe. Stop pouting, you’re not meant to be doing that.”

“Maybe you should paint the pout, show the world that you made Victor Nikiforov sad.”

Yuuri laughed, rolling his eyes and smiling fondly. He reached out, brushing the pad of his thumb against Victor’s cheek. Maybe it was self indulgence. In fact, he was sure it was, but he hoped the gentle touch would make Victor smile. It still felt surreal to have him close enough to touch, to be able to pose Victor in any way he wanted. Maybe he was terrible at sitting still, but he really was a perfect model. Yuuri owed him so much, “Your smile is prettier. I’d rather paint that.”

The simple statement was enough to have Victor beaming, a bright heart shaped smile on those soft pink lips, “I bet you say that to all your models.”

“You’re my only model,” Yuuri pointed out as he stepped back around the canvas, picking up the paintbrush, “Your smile is too big now. Moderation, Victor.”

“So picky,” Victor smirked, toning down his smile, “You never showed me the colours.”

Yuuri frowned as he stared at his painting. The eyes weren’t quite right. He wasn’t sure what it was, but they just weren’t the same as Victor’s. Maybe art really couldn’t compare to reality. He wouldn’t doubt that, “What do you mean?”

“What colour do you see when I talk?” Victor asked curiously, “Does it get in the way when you paint? Should I stop talking?”

Yuuri shook his head, “It’s there, but it goes away. I wouldn’t want you getting bored. I can deal with the colours better than I can deal with your fidgeting.”

“I can’t help it, Yuuri. Sitting in one spot for a long time is boring. Aren’t there other things we could be doing?”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow, “You’re kidding, right?”

Carefully, Yuuri began mixing colours together. Blues, reds, purples, white. It took time, longer than he expected it to, but eventually, he managed to blend a colour that was at least reminiscent of the lilac haze that appeared whenever he heard Victor speak. Such a beautiful colour, he knew he’d have to hold onto it. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d be able to use it again. In fact, he could easily see such a soothing colour becoming his favourite of them all. Yuuri gently brushed a line of the lilac colour against his wrist, holding it out to show Victor, “That’s you. Your voice, and I guess… essence. When I see this colour, I think of you, and when you talk, that’s what I see.”

“I can barely see that from all the way over here,” Victor pointed out, “What about your voice? What colour is it?”

Yuuri hummed softly, picking up a few more of his paints and carefully blending them together. He’d had plenty of time to figure out his own colour. He knew exactly which blues and greens to blend together to create it. Yuuri wished he could say he had a special colour like Victor, but truthfully, his was similar to a lot of the people he’d known. Maybe it was a little more pastel, a little closer to the paleness of Victor’s, but it was a colour Yuuri had seen so much that he couldn’t possibly imagine it as anything short of mundane.

Once Yuuri had blended the colours, creating a pale turquoise reminiscent of the ocean, he ran the paintbrush over his wrist again, letting the colour settle delicately on his skin beside Victor’s. Getting to his feet, he picked up the stool he’d been sitting on and dragged it over to sit beside Victor, holding out his arm to show him the colours, “Mine’s really boring. I’ve seen it so many times.”

“Well, of course you have. You live with it. I bet I’d think mine’s boring, too,” Victor reached out, taking Yuuri’s arm and pulling it closer to get a better look at the gentle hues that had been painted onto his skin, “Our colours fit well together.”

Yuuri shrugged, “I guess they do. But yours is so… special. Pinks and purples… they can mean so many things.”

Victor’s fingers moved gently along Yuuri’s arm as though he was glass, afraid to break him, “Why do you think so little of yourself?”

Looking up at Victor, he saw the very real curiosity in those pretty blue eyes, “I don’t know, I just know I’m not as amazing as you seem to think I am. I can’t even handle crowds without freaking out and running away. How am I supposed to show off my art if I can’t handle crowds?” Yuuri looked down at the colours on his arm, “Being able to see these things has given me so much, but it’s taken a lot away, too.”

Yuuri could only watch as Victor’s fingers carefully threaded with his own, his thumb brushing gentle circles against the back of his hand, “There’s nothing wrong with you, Yuuri. You’re not broken. Seeing what you see, being able to understand the world the way you do… it’s incredible. Don’t ever doubt yourself.”

Victor was so beautiful, so kind, so sweet, so… close. Yuuri could feel the gentle squeeze of Victor’s hand entwined with his own, could see him shifting ever so slightly closer and if Yuuri could give himself a moment to dream, he’d think maybe this was one of those cheesy romantic moments in the movies, the moment they realise their feelings for each other and kiss under the moonlight. Only there was no moonlight. They were sat in Yuuri’s room in the middle of the afternoon. Still, he could feel Victor close, and couldn’t possibly deny that intimacy.

A knock at the door broke Yuuri from his trance, the green hues of his sister’s voice passing through the wood, “Yuuri, lunchtime! You gotta eat something!”

Sighing softly, Yuuri rested his head against Victor’s, “You moved again.”

“I guess I did.”

Reluctantly letting go of Victor’s hand, he got to his feet, “It’s fine, we should get something to eat anyway.”


	4. Grace

**_Grace; Smoothness and elegance of movement._ **

 

Yuuri was half asleep as he heard the knock at the door, his eyes darting open as he was broken from his daze. He’d taken to giving Victor far more breaks during the creation process than he actually needed. Yuuri could focus on the painting himself. Though he needed to look closely for the details, Yuuri knew he could still work from his mind. It was something he’d certainly gotten used to in the past, the gentle colours moving around the figure on the ice had become so normal to him, he really only needed to look closely at the hues. Everything else felt easy. Of course, he needed Victor for a lot more time when it came to the closer paintings, the ones where he’d get to show off that Victor Nikiforov was his model. Maybe he had been the person Yuuri had always been thinking of when he painted before, but now he didn’t have to deny it. It was different and wonderful, and it would be nice to share Victor with the world; the Victor that Yuuri saw.

“Hm?” Yuuri looked up from his painting to see Victor standing in the doorway, “I thought I told you to relax for the night.”

Victor’s smirk was so obvious, and Yuuri hoped the way his heart fluttered wasn’t. He could only watch as Victor slowly made his way into the room, stepping closer and tilting his head to the side as he looked at the half finished painting, “You really have a way with colours. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not finished,” Yuuri murmured, quickly getting to his feet in an attempt to obscure Victor’s view. Yuuri never showed people his art before it was finished, and it always took him a long time to actually decide when that was. It felt strange and almost wrong for Victor to be looking at a half complete work, especially when it contained his own image. That just didn’t seem right. It didn’t make much sense for Victor to be complimenting it, either. Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, Yuuri smiled, “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

Victor beamed, reaching out and taking Yuuri’s hand as he stepped back towards the door, “I’m here to take you away from your work for a while. I have a surprise for you.”

Victor had been staying with them for over a month now, and he’d been holding Yuuri’s hand more and more. Yuuri didn’t want to let himself think about just how nice their hands felt together, how perfectly Victor’s slender fingers threaded between his own. Yuuri had always been one for sentimentality when it came to art and colour, but he wasn’t going to let himself be that person in affairs of the heart. He couldn’t. Fooling himself into thinking these feelings were anything more than they were would only hurt the friendship he’d managed to build up. But Victor’s hand was really soft, and his smile was like moonlight. And when he laughed, Yuuri could feel his whole body melting as he was enveloped in that beautiful purple lilac colour. 

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely capable of holding back these feelings. 

“A surprise from you sounds terrifying, what did you do?” Victor Nikiforov was spontaneous at the best of times. To think he’d gone out of his way to be even more surprising than usual was a little worrying. Maybe he was giving Victor too much free time between painting. He really did look bored during longer sessions, though, and that wasn’t what Yuuri wanted to be portrayed in the art. 

Victor laughed, pulling Yuuri out of the room and never letting go of his hand, “Relax. You’ll like it, I promise. I just wanna spend some time with you.”

Victor always did say sweet things like that, things that made Yuuri’s heart race and his mind wander to possibilities that weren’t actually possibilities at all. Nothing could happen. He had to keep reminding himself that this relationship was strictly professional. Sure, Victor was sweet and adorable, but that was just who he was. This was going to be over soon enough, and Victor would go back to Russia. There was no point in getting all attached to someone who wouldn’t be around for much longer.

If only Victor would stop saying and doing such sweet things.

“You spend time with me every day. You should be sick of me.”

“Never,” Victor grinned as he guided them outside. 

Yuuri had been to the onsen’s garden plenty of times. The expanse of flowers and plants was always so beautiful, complete with a small pond off to the side. There was a large open space towards the centre, an area that they only ever used for special occasions. Ordinarily, the empty space would be filled with tables, a dining area for those who wanted a special experience. Instead, all the tables and chairs were gone, fairy lights twinkling in the bushes like stars. It was still early evening, but the effect was just as breathtaking.

Yuuri frowned, turning to see Victor looking positively elated, “What’s going on?”

“Well,” Victor took Yuuri’s free hand in his own, gently tugging him out to the centre of the now open space, “You’ve been spending so much time working on this beautiful art and talking about how wonderful you think my skating is…”

“Your skating is incredible. You’re an undefeated champion,” Yuuri shrugged. He really didn’t care much about the medals. Yuuri didn’t understand the scoring side of figure skating. He never paid attention to that. Yuuri was always far too engrossed in the performance to care, and though he’d tried to watch other skaters, none were able to convey the story as well as Victor did, none could move with the colours in the same harmonious way. Yuuri could see the colours himself, but he’d never been able to naturally move around them like Victor could. It was a talent, one Victor didn’t seem to realise he possessed. 

“Now it’s your turn to be part of the art,” Victor seemed so pleased with himself as he let go of Yuuri’s hands, taking a step back and looking over Yuuri’s shoulder. That caught Yuuri’s attention. He looked behind him to see Mari watching the pair of them, pressing a button on a nearby stereo, the soft music slowly filling the area with a gentle peach haze. It was so pleasant and Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to thank his sister or scold her for letting herself get involved in Victor’s schemes. Victor smiled appreciatively in her direction, offering Yuuri his hand once more, “May I have this dance?”

“Do I have a choice?” Yuuri teased, taking the offered hand regardless. 

“Not really,” Victor conceded as he moved to hold Yuuri close in a dance pose, “But you wouldn’t say no to me, would you?”

“I’ve said no to you plenty of times,” Though it was true, Yuuri knew that Victor was becoming a weakness for him, his need to make him happy more overwhelming than anything else. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure what it was. He’d watched Victor since he was a child, learned all the nuances of his performances. Yuuri understood Victor Nikiforov the performer better than he understood anything else. But this wasn’t that person. Victor, the man in front of him, the one who smiled bright like the sun, and laughed with reckless abandon, the man who went out of his way to make Yuuri happy; this was something different, something he never expected, and something that was breaking down all his walls, leaving Yuuri wanting nothing more than to fall into his arms and give himself over completely to the feeling of warmth they brought.

“Not when it really matters,” Victor’s smile was bright and comforting, and Yuuri knew he’d give him anything he asked for as long as that smile never faded. He’d do whatever it takes to always make Victor so happy, and it was a wonderful, terrifying thought.

Victor began to lead them through a simple waltz, and it felt easy. Why did everything with Victor feel so easy? The world was being nothing short of cruel, but looking into Victor’s soft blue eyes, seeing his genuine happiness, Yuuri had to tell himself to just stop thinking and enjoy the moment. He’d spent his whole life analysing Victor’s movements, analysing colours and the sounds that create them. Just this once, he had to stop himself thinking and focus on the happiness he felt as Victor moved him effortlessly in circles around the small courtyard, his smile never fading.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Victor sounded impressed, raising an eyebrow as he moved them through a more complicated sequence of steps, Yuuri keeping up with ease as he followed Victor’s lead.

“Just don’t try it on ice,” Yuuri laughed as Victor moved away to gently spin Yuuri in place, “That’s not even a waltz step.”

“Yeah, but it made you laugh,” Victor’s smile was infectious, Yuuri leaning close again as they moved back into the usual steps, the music gently dancing through the air around them. The movement of the dance was slow and deliberate, and Yuuri found it easy to lose himself in the moment, his eyes never leaving Victor’s, swimming in the depth of those azure eyes so filled with emotion, but so difficult to decipher. All at once, Victor was an expressive person, but so difficult to read. And Yuuri wanted to know, he wanted to understand Victor so badly. Yuuri would’ve given up all his paintings, all the understanding he had of Victor as a skater just for a glimpse into understanding Victor as he was. Just Victor. Just sweet, kind, beautiful Victor.

“Why are you doing all this?” Yuuri asked curiously. Just a glimpse. Just a little sample of understanding this man, that was all he wanted.

Victor shrugged, “You’re always talking about me like I’m a work of art. You painted all these incredible pieces just by watching me. I get to see what you see when I look at them, and you see something so...divine,” Yuuri didn’t even realise he was moving closer, that their steps had slowed. He was too engrossed in Victor’s voice, listening to his words, watching as the haze of purples appeared in the air and blended together with the gentle peach music, “I wanted to show you that you’re a work of art, too. I can’t paint, so this was the next best thing.”

His words meant so much, conveyed so much even in their simplicity, and Yuuri didn’t know what he was supposed to say in response. What were you meant to say to someone who inspired you so completely, who made you truly happy, and who was quickly stealing your heart away? What was Yuuri supposed to say to the man who had given him everything? But he hadn’t given Yuuri everything. Not completely. Because there was still this need in the back of his mind, this ache in his heart when he got too close to Victor. He didn’t just want this. Yuuri wanted to give himself completely to Victor Nikiforov, to allow himself that luxury, but it wasn’t something he could simply give. Yuuri knew he’d been selfish enough, he’d asked too much of Victor already. 

Their dance had slowed to a stop, heads rested together and Yuuri didn’t know how long they’d been standing like that, but he knew he had to stop, that he couldn’t keep indulging himself like this. Reluctantly, he let go of Victor’s hand, taking a step back, “I should get back to work.”

“You don’t have to,” Victor frowned as he watched Yuuri step away, “There’s still more songs…”

Yuuri nodded, his voice soft as he started heading back inside, “Thank you, Victor.”

* * *

 

“This is… different,” Victor stood in the doorway, watching as Yuuri placed random paint palettes on the ground, covered in various different colours. The ground itself had already been prepared, newspapers all over the place, though that wasn’t all that surprising. Yuuri’s room often had newspapers littering the floor when he was working on a project. A large blank canvas sat in the middle of the floor, Yuuri looking up at Victor expectantly.

It had been two days since the dancing incident, and Yuuri was determined to put it behind him. They could move on and never think about it again, he was sure. Since he’d also finished the last piece he was working on, Yuuri had decided to try something new, “Sit down, I need your help for this.”

Victor seemed sceptical, but did as he was asked, moving to sit beside Yuuri on the floor, their shoulders gently bumping together, “You don’t want me to pose today? I was practicing all the best expressions.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, smiling fondly, “No, I thought we could do something else today. I want you to help me with this one.”

“I can’t paint,” Victor reminded him, simply watching as Yuuri shifted himself until he was laying on his stomach in front of the canvas, using his arm for leverage and dipping his finger in a deep blue, “This is your talent, not mine.”

“You don’t have to paint anything fancy. Just put some colours on the canvas for all I care,” Yuuri shrugged as he carefully mixed the blue on his finger with a lighter shade, trying to find the right hue, “No paint brushes.”

Victor smirked as he watched Yuuri carefully mixing the colours together until he was satisfied. It was an interesting side of Yuuri. Though he was often afraid to speak his mind, afraid to be himself, it was different when it came to his art. Yuuri didn’t hesitate. He didn’t take time to think about whether the colour was wrong. He mixed until he was satisfied, and then dabbed the colours against the canvas. Yuuri was so much more sure of himself with art.

Seeing how Yuuri didn’t hesitate seemed to spur Victor on. It didn’t take long before they were both painting in different sections of the canvas, Yuuri clearly more confident than Victor was. But that didn’t matter. Not really. It was something Yuuri had never done before, and he wanted to share it with Victor. But more than that, he wanted to see what Victor would come up with.

Despite telling himself that he wouldn’t look at what Victor was doing, curiosity was getting the better of Yuuri. Eventually he glanced over to see Victor’s hands covered in an array of different colours. He’d clearly started with abstract, random colours swirled together in strange, nonsensical patterns. If Yuuri wanted to analyse it, he’d say it reminded him of the marks left on the ice by his blades, but he knew it meant absolutely nothing. Yuuri chuckled as he realised what it was Victor was currently working on. A little fluffy cloud of brown fur in the shape of a dog sat at the side of the canvas, Victor carefully trying to add in details and finding it difficult when he had only his fingers to assist him.

Victor pouted, looking over when he heard Yuuri’s laughter, “We can’t all be as skilled as you.”

“No, it’s adorable, I just should’ve expected it.”

Victor seemed pleased with that, “None of your paintings have Makkachin, and it’s a crime. She’s much more photogenic than I am.”

Yuuri laughed, “I bet she’d sit still longer than you do, too.”

Before Yuuri could do anything to stop it, he felt Victor’s paint covered finger brush against his cheek. He blinked, surprised by the sudden touch before he realised exactly what Victor had just done. The grin he received was positively breathtaking and sinful in equal measure, “That’s what you get for making fun of me.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” Yuuri chuckled, dipping a finger in the brightest red paint he had available and reaching out, wiping the vibrant colour against Victor’s cheek. It really wasn’t fair that absolutely every colour seemed to look good on him.

It didn’t take long for their painting activity to devolve into nothing short of a colour fight, laughter filling the room with purples and aquas, mingling together in the space around them as Yuuri and Victor tried to fight off each other’s paint covered hands. Their skin soon displayed more colours than the canvas they’d been working on, but neither of them paid any mind to it, more focused on each other and the desire to win this ridiculous game than anything else. 

Just as quickly as their antics had begun, Yuuri felt himself pressed against the floor, Victor hovering over him and making no move to let him up. The laughter fizzled as Yuuri stared up at Victor, uncertainty filling his entire being. It was like a cheesy movie; one of those cliche moments when the two love interests look into each other’s eyes and something clicks. Only that something had clicked in Yuuri’s mind a long time ago and he’d been doing his best to run away from it up until that moment. But the way Victor looked at him, spatterings of paint against his face and along his arms, so beautiful, so… happy. It was the Victor he’d missed so desperately after seeing his last free skate. An irresistible Victor. Yuuri tilted his head up to let their lips brush for just a moment before he realised exactly what he’d done.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha-- mmf…” Yuuri had a not so prepared speech, a rambling of apologies that were bubbling up inside him, because he shouldn’t have kissed Victor. He shouldn’t have been selfish, he should’ve just left things as they were, everything was fine and they were happy. Victor didn’t deserve any pressure Yuuri put on him. All the thoughts of why he should never push his feelings on Victor quickly dissolved away as he was interrupted, Victor’s lips pressed against his own with such intense need, a need Yuuri thought he was alone in feeling. Yuuri wasn’t sure what to think at first, quickly reminding himself that thinking was so overrated. His fingers tangled in Victor’s silver locks, finally letting himself embrace this moment he’d been denying himself for far too long. Victor was beautiful, a walking work of art, and Yuuri knew he didn’t deserve this, but he’d take it. Anything to be close to Victor for just a little bit longer.

Victor pulled away after a long moment, just enough to breathe. Their breaths mingled together, noses gently bumping as Victor spoke, “Do you have any idea how many signals I’ve been trying to send you?”

It was such a shock to Yuuri’s system that Victor Nikiforov would even consider him romantically, he said the first thing that came to mind, which unfortunately wasn’t as smart as he’d hoped, “I think I got paint in your hair.”

Victor’s laughter soon dissolved as he pulled Yuuri close, the painting long forgotten, replaced with soft kisses and the occasional opportunity taken to wipe more paint against each other’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the incredible, wonderful Alli made art for the last scene and it's just so beautiful guys oh my god. Check out their art [here](http://nikiforoov.net/post/176973066850/commission-for-gabzjones-she-asked-me-to-draw). :'D


	5. Belonging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanted to take a moment to thank you SO MUCH for the messages and kudos. This fic has gotten so much love and it means the world to me! I can't believe it's almost over, but I can't wait to share the rest with you!

**_Belonging; Have an affinity for a specified place or situation._ **

 

Yuuri remembered that night with great fondness; the night he let indulgence get the better of him and shared kisses with a god. Of course, Victor kinda lost that sense of otherworldliness when the night ended with him whining about how he couldn’t get the paint out of his hair. It took a couple days and many washes before the pigments finally went away. Yuuri would never admit that he kinda liked the random patches of pastel colour. Victor probably wouldn’t want to hear that.

A few more weeks had passed between them, Yuuri working harder than ever. His deadline was fast approaching. He’d made plenty of new art pieces, but knew he’d need to use some of his older ones to bulk up the collection. Yuuri wanted to use as many new pieces as he could, so he couldn’t stop. Not for anything. That was a hard mindset to stick to now that Victor knew Yuuri returned his affections, though. Victor was a shameless flirt. Not only that, but if he knew Yuuri was staying up late working, Yuuri would often feel strong arms wrap around him from behind, Victor’s head resting against his shoulder as he whispered gentle reminders for Yuuri to get some sleep. It was hard to resist.

Yuuri knocked gently at Victor’s door, well aware of how late it was. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find Victor sleeping. That was one big difference between the two of them; Victor had a very strict sleep schedule. Yuuri stayed up late, especially when he was working, and didn’t have much of a regular sleep pattern. The sound of acknowledgement on the other side of the door was all Yuuri needed to open it, finding himself presented with the sight of Victor sat in the middle of the bed, Makkachin settled between his legs as she enjoyed his attention, “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Victor’s smile was immediate, so filled with happiness, “You finished working for today?”

Yuuri took a few tentative steps into the room, closing the door behind him as he went, “I finished a little while ago. Couldn’t sleep,” Rubbing his arm nervously, Yuuri kept his eyes to the ground, his voice filled with uncertainty, “I was wondering if maybe…”

“You don’t have to ask,” Victor’s voice was so warm, so welcoming. That beautiful flowery purple filling the air and moving so close Yuuri could almost feel it kiss at his skin, “There’s room for one more. You just might need to bunch up a little.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow as he sat on the edge of the bed, “Are you saying I have to cuddle if I want to stay?”

“I don’t make the rules,” Victor shrugged, “You got a problem, you gotta take it up with the boss.”

“The boss?” 

As if on cue, Makkachin was bounding from one side of the bed to the other, resting her front paws on Yuuri’s leg and sitting up tall with her tongue lolling to the side. Yuuri’s laughter filled the air, gentle colours mixing and fading as he reached out, offering Makkachin his hand and watching as she placed her paw atop it. Adorable. Yuuri wasn’t sure which of them was more affectionate; Makkachin or Victor. Yuuri reached his free hand to rub behind her ear, “Can I stay for a while, boss? I think I can handle the cuddling.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether Makkachin understood what he was saying, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was simply excited to be given his attention. But Makkachin was a big dog, and she didn’t seem to realise that. Before Yuuri could do anything to stop it, Makkachin was pouncing on him, her paws pushing him back against the bed as she stood over him, licking his cheeks. Yuuri’s laughter filled the room once more as he gently pushed her away, “Alright, alright! I’m staying!”

“Good girl,” Victor’s voice seemed to pull her away, Makkachin settling herself beside Victor on the bed. Yuuri was still looking up at the ceiling when Victor’s face came into view, peering down at him, “That settles it, you’re stuck here now.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Yuuri smiled, feeling a real, genuine happiness that he hadn’t felt since he was a child, a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. There was no place in the world Yuuri would rather be than right there with Victor and Makkachin. 

The gap between them was quickly closed as Victor indulged in a gentle kiss. So simple, so easy; everything with Victor felt natural in a way Yuuri had never felt before. Part of him was a little scared. Feeling so close to someone so quickly was overwhelming, like the colours that engulfed his vision in large crowds, but Victor was comforting, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. 

Despite the strange angle, Yuuri reached out to rest a hand against Victor’s cheek. He felt Victor snatch his wrist, pulling away to look up at him in confusion, “What’s wrong?”

“Paint. Hair.”

Yuuri chuckled, seeing the intense, serious expression on Victor’s face. He really hadn’t taken well to the colours being stuck in his hair. Pulling his hand away, Yuuri held both up for Victor to scrutinize. There were a couple of splotches of colour on Yuuri’s skin, so faint they were barely noticeable, “I scrubbed them before I came here. No paint will get in your hair, I promise.”

“Hm… alright, you’re off the hook this time.”

The smile was so obvious. Yuuri would’ve been sure Victor was simply teasing him if he didn’t know how Victor had reacted to having that paint stuck in his hair last time. Sitting up, Yuuri shuffled over the bed until he was laying beside Victor, just watching him, uncertain. It’d been a while since their first kiss. They’d shared plenty more since. But Yuuri hadn’t ever shared a bed with Victor before, and he wasn’t sure what was okay, what Victor expected. To be so close to someone who had always meant so much to him, Yuuri wasn’t even sure any of this was real. Maybe he’d spent too much time painting and had fallen into a wonderful dream. 

Victor seemed to notice his uncertainty, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around him. The warmth was immediate, the feeling of soothing comfort that came with being wrapped up with someone who had always meant so much to him. As Victor tangled their legs together, Yuuri let himself indulge in the closeness, his own arms wrapping around Victor and brushing his fingers through silver hair, “Why’d you cut your hair short, anyway?”

It was something Yuuri had been curious about for a long time. Being able to see the colours dancing around Victor’s long hair was so mesmerising, it was something Yuuri had lamented the loss of the moment he found out the hair had been cut short. His hair was so beautiful, like strands of moonlight. 

“A lot of reasons,” Victor’s voice was soft, taking on that tone he used when he was lost in thought, “I was… tired. I was starting to feel like I was just this… commodity. Like all the people around me were only there to get things from me. Fame, money, I don’t know. I didn’t feel like anything in my life was real. I was so tired of being that person, and one day I just got so angry. So, I cut it. My hair was a big part of my appeal when I was younger, so I thought if I cut it, the people who mattered would stay, and the ones who were using me would leave.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what kind of response he was expecting. He thought maybe something about an artistic epiphany, but he hadn’t thought that Victor’s past had been hurting him that much. Yuuri frowned as he brushed the pad of his thumb against his cheek, “Victor…”

“It was a mess when I cut it,” Victor chuckled, “Yakov took me out and got it fixed. Felt really strange for a while, but it was nice. I felt like a new me.”

“I’m so sorry…” The guilt was immediate, thinking about what Victor had been through, how people had made him feel, and knowing deep down that he was no better. Yuuri had used Victor since he was a kid. He’d used his likeness. Yuuri had built an entire career on Victor Nikiforov, “All the paintings…”

“No,” Victor’s smile was brilliant, wonderful, and so genuine Yuuri wasn’t sure if his heart skipped a beat or doubled in speed. Maybe both, “You were inspired by me, but that talent was all you. I’ve seen how much you work, Yuuri. You haven’t used me at all. And the fact that I could inspire someone… it makes me so happy. I promise.”

Yuuri reached out, brushing soft strands of hair from Victor’s eyes. It still all felt surreal; that he was laying in a bed with Victor Nikiforov, that Victor was looking at him with so much love and affection in those gentle eyes. What could someone so beautiful, so talented, and so utterly perfect see in someone as ordinary as Yuuri? But questioning it wouldn’t help. Yuuri just focused on the moment, smiling fondly, “I’m glad you kept the bangs. It’s pretty, even if it hides your eyes sometimes.”

“Yeah, just don’t go colouring it,” Victor teased.

Yuuri felt Makkachin settle between them, her head resting against Yuuri’s leg. He’d never felt so at home in his life, moving closer and resting his head against Victor’s chest, “Don’t worry, you look good in any colour.”

* * *

 

“If you wanted me to take my shirt off, you could’ve just said so.”

“I’ve seen you without your shirt plenty of times, Victor,” Yuuri couldn’t deny it was a nice view, tilting his head to appreciate the delicate curve of Victor’s back, the expanse of pale flesh and the way his muscles moved as he made his way across the room. Victor didn’t need to know Yuuri was staring, he didn’t need to know the effect such a sight could have on him. Of course, the way Victor’s hips seemed to sway with his every step, Yuuri was sure he was doing it on purpose.

Victor was an athlete, and his body was proof of that. That really had to be the most perfect body Yuuri had ever seen. But then, there wasn’t much about Victor that he thought was anything less than that. Watching as Victor sat down, turning to face him with a slight smirk, Yuuri quickly averted his gaze, focusing on getting the necessary paints together. Working with Victor had been interesting. Yuuri had gotten to try things he’d never tried before, but it was fun to broaden his horizons, and Victor never questioned it. He was always so welcoming of Yuuri’s ideas, willing to try it whether it worked or not. 

Once Yuuri had everything he needed, he made his way to sit beside Victor, smiling shyly, “At least you don’t have to sit as still for this part.”

“That stuff isn’t gonna stain my skin, is it?” Victor looked sceptical as he watched Yuuri dip a thin brush in the paint.

“It’s body paint. I made sure to get paint that wouldn’t stain you, relax,” Yuuri wasn’t sure he would’ve minded his art stained onto Victor’s skin, a constant reminder that he had done this, proof that he’d touched Victor, just as Victor had touched him in his own ways. Once Victor seemed to relax, Yuuri let the brush gently run along Victor’s skin, starting at his hip and slowly moving up his side as he went.

Victor giggled, a soft, beautiful sound, delicate purple surrounding them, "Tickles."

"Don't you dare fidget," Yuuri smiled fondly as he focused on his task, “So um, the exhibition is in a couple weeks. This’ll probably be the last piece I can get done before then.”

“Already? It’s felt like no time at all. Hasetsu’s such a peaceful place,” Victor smiled as he watched Yuuri work.

When Yuuri first started painting with Victor in the room, the feeling of being watched was overwhelming. It left an anxious pit in his stomach as he wondered what he’d do to mess up, to make a fool of himself. Things were different now. He could still feel Victor’s eyes on him, watching as the brush delicately moved along his skin, but it was a reassuring feeling now, one that told Yuuri that there was someone who believed in him, and trusted his instincts. Yuuri let the line he’d slowly been painting over Victor’s skin branch off in random directions, some moving over his stomach, others curling around to his back, and more moving further up his body, “I guess Russia’s a lot busier, huh?”

“It can be,” Victor spoke gently, as though he was afraid to move too much for Yuuri’s sake, “There are some quiet places. You just have to know where to look.”

“I’ve only seen pictures. It looks so different,” Yuuri had only known Hasetsu. There had been opportunities for him to travel away from home, but Yuuri had always turned them down for a number of reasons. He’d gotten used to having his sister there to take care of him in big crowds, and Yuuri didn’t want to announce his synesthesia to the world. Not having her there if things got tough was a real fear for Yuuri, though he knew he couldn’t rely on her forever. At least in Hasetsu, he knew he was surrounded by people he could trust, living in a town that was always quiet.

“You’ve never left Hasetsu?” Victor asked curiously. Of course, Victor had no doubt been all over the world. His skating took him everywhere. Yuuri didn’t really keep track of all the places, but he knew that traveling had to have been something Victor was used to by now. They were like two opposite sides of a coin.

“I’ve never had a reason to leave before. There’s always been things to paint here. My family’s here,” Yuuri carefully lifted Victor’s arm, letting the branching lines slowly tangle down to his wrist, “I started running out of ideas, but then you turned up.”

“Traveling can help with inspiration. Maybe you should take a trip. You could stay somewhere for a few years, see what happens.”

The paintbrush stilled on Victor’s skin as Yuuri looked up at Victor, his expression impossible to decipher. After the last few months together, Yuuri still had trouble figuring out what was going on in Victor’s head, “Where would I even go?”

Victor shrugged, his eyes scanning the room around them, “Anywhere. Italy, France… You could come back to Russia with me…”

Yuuri’s breath caught as he stared at Victor, trying to process what he was suggesting. They’d spent only a few short months in each other’s presence. They’d only gotten closer more recently. It felt crazy. Yuuri wasn’t sure what was more insane; that Victor would suggest it, or that he wanted so badly to take him up on the offer. Yuuri carefully placed his paintbrush beside him as he stared at Victor, “You’re not… kidding, are you?”

Victor frowned, finally looking back at Yuuri, “Why would I joke about that?”

“Where would I live?” 

“With me,” Victor raised an eyebrow, “Where else? We’ve been practically living together for months and it’s been great.”

Yuuri looked down at his hands, chewing his lip nervously. It was true. Every moment he’d spent with Victor had been amazing. There was nothing he didn’t like about being around him. Even the more eccentric moments, Yuuri could deal with. But things were different now. They weren’t just two people working together anymore. There was something there, something so wonderful that it sent butterflies soaring in Yuuri’s stomach just thinking about it. But it changed things. Yuuri wasn’t even sure what to call his relationship with Victor anymore. Friends seemed wrong. Lovers was too strong. He didn’t know what Victor wanted, and he couldn’t possibly ask what it was, “It’s… not the same. We’re not the same, we’d be…”

“A couple?” Victor said it so easily, the word rolling off his tongue with that Russian lilt and it sounded so wonderful, so beautiful. Yuuri wanted it so badly, to be able to say yes, that’s exactly what they were, but was it? Victor would be going back to Russia soon, and Yuuri wasn’t sure he could just pack up his life and join him there. It hadn’t been long, and maybe he was head over heels for this man who had influenced him since he was a kid, but that didn’t mean things would work. Victor reached out, taking Yuuri’s hands in his own, “That’s what you want, right? Or am I reading things wrong?”

“No. I mean, you’re not reading things wrong…” Yuuri looked down at their hands, trying and failing to ignore how warm Victor’s were, how soft his skin was, how right it felt when Victor held his hands. Everything about Victor seemed to fit him perfectly. He’d thought it all his life, but when he was right in front of Yuuri, it was a whole new feeling. And it reminded Yuuri that this was something he shouldn’t have. Victor Nikiforov was so far out of his league, it didn’t make any sense for Victor to be looking at him like this. But he was. And it felt good. It felt right, “This is just really sudden.”

Victor gently squeezed Yuuri’s hands, so reassuring and simple as he spoke, “When I saw your painting of my free program, I thought I’d finally found someone who understood me. So, I came here to meet you and try to understand you. I didn’t expect you to be this adorable, shy, talented artist,” Yuuri could feel himself blushing, but kept his eyes trained on their hands and how well they fit together, “I didn’t expect all these feelings. But, Yuuri, being with you is home. If I could stay here with you, I would, but I can’t. So bringing you with me is the next best thing. You don’t have to, but at least think about it.”

Yuuri could feel his heart melting, his desperate desire to say yes, to give into temptation. There was nothing he wanted more than to be with Victor, to be able to travel with him, and see the world, to paint all the sunsets with Victor by his side and fall asleep in his arms. Yuuri could picture it all so well, could imagine waking up first thing in the morning and being dragged out for a morning run with Makkachin only to get back and make Victor some breakfast. He’d have to rush out for practice, and Yuuri would sometimes join him just to watch, to sketch. Victor would try to show off, doing unnecessary jumps and Yakov would yell at him for wasting time. 

Yuuri could imagine it all and it felt so good, but was it right? Did he deserve it? Truthfully, he’d been happier the last few months than he had his whole life, but was it just a fluke? How could he really know for sure?

“Can I ask you something?” Victor broke him from his thoughts, his head tilting to the side as he watched Yuuri curiously, “When you think about where you belong, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

The answer was scary. Wonderful, heartwarming, and filled with so much hope for the future, but terrifying. Looking up into Victor’s eyes, Yuuri knew he could trust him. Taking a shaky breath, he replied, voice filled with complete sincerity, “You.”


	6. Voices

**_Voices; A particular opinion or attitude expressed._ **

 

“Victor… we’re gonna get caught...” Beyond the door was a room full of people and his art. Family, friends, press, art critics. It had started innocently enough, Victor dragging them away to shower Yuuri with affection. He was ridiculous, but completely adorable, and Yuuri couldn’t find it in himself to deny him. But now he was pressed against the wall, Victor’s fingers moving under Yuuri’s suit coat, lips brushing against his neck. Victor’s every touch set a fire inside Yuuri, an intense need to have him closer, so much closer, but this was not the time or the place.

“You worry too much,” Victor chuckled, soft colour fluttering by Yuuri’s vision for just a moment before his eyes were closing, fingers tangled in silver hair as Victor brushed a hand over his hip, soft kisses peppering his skin.

“The press are gonna want to talk to me…” Yuuri wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more; Victor or himself. 

“Say it one more time and I’ll let you go,” Victor’s smirk was full of mischief, and through Yuuri knew it would be more fun to deny him, Yuuri enjoyed saying it just as much as Victor enjoyed hearing it.

Wrapping his arms loosely around Victor’s neck, Yuuri looked into his eyes as he spoke, “After the exhibition, I have to pack my things and head home. With you.”

Victor’s grin was immediate. So bright, so warm, a heart shaped smile so brilliant, Yuuri could feel the love radiating from him, “Yeah, you do.”  

Just as Victor was leaning in for a kiss, an indulgence they both couldn’t resist, they were startled by the sound of the door opening. Yuuri was frozen in place, only able to turn his head to see who it was and hope it wasn’t someone with a camera. This was the last thing he needed to have appearing in the media. He could picture the headlines now. 

_ King of Figure Skating, Victor Nikiforov Caught in Secret Sexcapade With Amateur Artist. _

Yuuri frowned just thinking about it. He had no intention of keeping this a secret. They just happened to be hiding away for the sake of the guests. Would people really think he’d try to keep Victor a secret? Or maybe they’d assume Victor would want to keep him the secret. That was more likely. 

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or even more concerned when he saw that it was his sister at the doorway, an eyebrow raised as she watched the two of them. Victor was still holding Yuuri against the wall, Yuuri’s arms still loosely wrapped around him, fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, “It’s… exactly what it looks like,” Yuuri conceded, knowing there was no way he’d be able to lie to his sister. She’d see through it instantly, “I um… I’ll be right out?”

Stepping into the room, Mari closed the door behind her and focused her attention on Victor, “Can I have a moment alone with my brother?”

“Of course,” Victor smiled politely, taking Yuuri’s hand and brushing a kiss to his knuckles, “I’ll just go talk up your art.”

Yuuri would’ve been embarrassed, having his sister right there to see them together like that, but he was really just enjoying all the attention Victor gave to him. It was always like this. Whether they were alone, or other people were nearby, Victor reached for his hand, pulled him closer. Victor had even offered Yuuri his coat one evening when he was watching the sunset, considering his options for the future. 

Mari watched as Victor stepped out of the room, crossing her arms over her chest, “Bagged yourself a gentleman, huh?”

Yuuri smiled shyly, averting his gaze, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Stepping closer, Mari’s voice was soft, gentle, a pastel green filling the air with her words, “So, you’re moving to Russia?”

Yuuri froze. He hadn’t told anyone about the plans. The only person he’d spoken to about moving away from Hasetsu was Victor, and even then, Yuuri had taken his time deciding whether he would really end up going. There were a lot of things keeping him where he was. His family was there, everything he’d ever known was there, but as the days moved on, Yuuri was reminded that Victor wasn’t going to be there much longer. It hurt. Yuuri had no idea anything could feel that way. He’d watched Victor since he was a child and had always been mesmerised by him, but it wasn’t the same as having him there, being able to reach out and touch him. 

Yuuri had been kept up at night thinking about what things would be like once Victor went home. This was always temporary. The thought of waking up one day and not having Victor there was strange. He’d lived that life for so long, but Yuuri didn’t think he could go back to it. Truthfully, there was an emptiness there, something missing that he hadn’t even realised before, but now it was so obvious. Yuuri knew that without Victor there, that emptiness would tear him apart. He needed Victor.

Watching Mari, Yuuri sighed softly, “I was gonna tell you, I just needed to figure out how.”

“Victor told me,” She shrugged, leaning against the wall beside him, “He went on about how he’d make sure nothing bad happens to you, and he’d give you all the art supplies your heart desires,” Mari had a faraway smile as she spoke, “Are you sure about this?”

“No,” Yuuri admitted. There were a lot of things he wasn’t sure of. He couldn’t see the future, couldn’t imagine what would happen when he moved in with Victor. But he couldn’t stay in Hasetsu for the rest of his life, either, “If I don’t do this, I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

“Good,” Mari nodded to herself.

“...Really?” Yuuri expected a fight, expected Mari to tell him all the reasons this was a bad idea. He’d thought of them all himself. What if he and Victor didn’t work out? What if he became a burden? What if one day he ended up single and alone in a foreign country with no money and no way home? There were so many what ifs and all of them scared him. 

“I’m not here to talk you out of it, Yuuri. I just need to know that you’ve thought it through,” Turning to face him, Mari took Yuuri’s hands in her own, looking into his eyes with a serious gaze, “You’re my little brother and I love you, but I have never seen you this happy before. Your art lately has been… amazing, Yuuri. You’re a different person around him.”

Mari’s voice had always been comforting. The green of her voice was nurturing, natural and wonderful, and maybe that was one of the reasons he’d always felt so safe around her. Or maybe she was the reason green made him feel at peace. Yuuri smiled, “He says traveling will help inspire me.”

“He’s right. You’ve painted every inch of Hasetsu. It’s time to get out there and paint something new,” Mari gently squeezed Yuuri’s hands, “And if anything goes wrong, you can come straight home. There’s always a place here for you.”

Yuuri knew he was lucky for a lot of reasons. His parents had always nurtured his love of art, had gotten him all the supplies he’d ever needed to learn and encouraged him to keep going. They were the reason he still did what he loved. They protected him when the colours overwhelmed his senses, made sure he was always safe and comfortable. Yuuri had the best family he could ever ask for, and Mari was always protecting him, “Thanks.”

“Now come on, you’re missing your own exhibition,” Letting go of his hands, Mari stepped towards the door, “Oh, and if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his legs. He’ll never skate again.”

Yuuri bit his lip, trying to hide his smile, “Right, of course.”

* * *

 

There was nothing more surreal than walking through a room with all your art on display. Yuuri kept all his art in a corner of his room in the onsen, never really seeing the light of day, but it was different here. The walls were white, making each piece stand out against them. Yuuri had always cared about colour, had gone out of his way to ensure his pieces were bright, vivid, and made an impact on the viewer in the same way colours did for him on a daily basis.

Yuuri had turned his sketch of Victor sleeping into a painting sitting on one wall, gentle eyelashes delicately resting against pale skin and a trail of hazy pinks and golds escaping his lips like smoke. He looked so content, so beautiful. Yuuri preferred the sketch, but he’d keep that for himself. An image for him and him alone. Another wall contained the image of Victor skating, the colours dim, a little sad but with a tinge of hope. At least, Yuuri wanted it to be hope. That’s how he had seen it as he watched Victor skating to that music. He remembered it so clearly, so fondly. Victor may have skated like a man filled with loneliness, but there was more there. Thinking about it, Yuuri wondered what it was, what was giving Victor his hope? 

There was another image of Victor posed with a winding tree moving along his body, leaves all the colours of the rainbow scattered along the dark branches. Victor looked so stunning. He always looked stunning. It was incredible to think that these simple images could be created by his own hands with just Victor’s help. Yuuri’s favourite was the painting they’d created together. The random colours Victor had splattered together had been turned into a breeze with leaves dancing through the colours, an image from a fairytale, but the colours worked so beautifully together. Makkachin was bounding forward through a field, two figures leaning together as they followed behind her. They were nothing more than a silhouette in the painting, but Yuuri knew who they were. When Yuuri had first finished the picture, there was only one figure behind Makkachin, but Victor had protested. He was so certain that the picture was incomplete without a second figure at his side. Maybe it was an image of a future he’d one day be able to share. Yuuri could only dream.

The room was mostly quiet, a gentle chattering filling the air with a few soft colours that mingled together. It was manageable. Yuuri had time to prepare for the exhibition, he knew what he was getting into. Thankfully, it was still a quiet event. The press wouldn’t be allowed to shout questions at him, there was etiquette that came with the venue. He did wonder idly what people thought of the paintings, but he didn’t dare listen in on the conversations, knowing that his anxiety would destroy him if he heard the smallest of critiques. When he was alone, he could deal with it. In a room full of strangers, Yuuri felt too vulnerable, too exposed. There would be reviews of his art appearing soon after the exhibition, but it was so much better than hearing it in person.

Yuuri spotted Victor standing by one of the paintings, quickly making his way over to join him. Being alone in a room full of people judging your work was enough to make anyone uneasy, and Victor had always been able to make those feelings go away. It just seemed right to be with him. Besides, Victor was his muse. It made sense for them to be together, didn’t it? Yuuri would come up with all the excuses he could possibly think of if it meant having Victor close. 

As Yuuri moved closer, he realised exactly what painting it was that had caught Victor’s eye. Gently bumping their shoulders together, Yuuri smiled shyly, “I forgot to tell you about that one.”

“When did you do this?” Victor didn’t look away, not for a moment, clearly captivated by the image he was presented with.

It was one of Yuuri’s more simple pieces. A couple dancing with starlight surrounding them. They stood close together, a fiery aura surrounding the pair of them; one pale purples, the other a soft turquoise. The colours that surrounded them slowly blended together, as though they were two halves of a whole. Yuuri wasn’t sure if the painting had come out exactly as he’d wanted it to, but he knew if he’d kept going, he would’ve worked on it forever.

“Mari recorded us dancing together. She gave me the video, and I just… you were so happy. And so was I. It was a rare moment I wouldn’t get many chances to paint, so I took it,” Yuuri suddenly felt uncertain. He should’ve asked, should’ve told Victor that this was one of the paintings he’d be using, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if that night was as special to Victor as it had been to him. After all, he’d abandoned Victor in that garden. Maybe the memories weren’t as fond for him, “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you.”

“I love it. It’s like… we’re part of each other,” Victor turned to Yuuri pulling him closer and kissing him gently, “You feel the same way I do.”

Yuuri would’ve been worried about a candid photo of he and Victor before, but when Victor spoke like that, when he could see how happy he was, Yuuri couldn’t possibly deny him. Yuuri didn’t want to keep any of it a secret. He thought maybe it would detract from the exhibition, and maybe it would, but he’d already gotten more than he could’ve hoped for. Anything else was a bonus. Yuuri nipped Victor’s lip playfully, his smile unstoppable and his heart feeling fit to burst as he reached for Victor’s hand, “I’ve been painting you since I was twelve, Victor. How do you think I feel?”

“Can I see some of twelve year old Yuuri’s paintings?” Victor grinned.

Yuuri laughed, gently pushing Victor away, “You definitely don’t need to see that.”

“You got to see my skating when I was a kid, I want to see your art,” Victor whined, threading their fingers together as he looked back at the painting in front of them, “I promise I’ll like it.”

“Maybe one day,” Yuuri shrugged, “If you’re lucky.”

“Yuuri!” Yuuri knew what it meant, hearing his sister calling for him like that. That tone, that shade of green. He had to give a speech, to talk about his art to a group of people. But how exactly was he supposed to explain what his art meant? It meant so many different things.

Yuuri reluctantly let go on Victor’s hand, making his way over to his sister and waiting as she got the attention of the room. It was expected. The press wanted to hear from him, the critics wanted to hear from him. Yuuri never really thought he was one for talking to groups of people, but he decided this would be better than having to answer a lot of questions. Especially when he knew most of them would be about Victor. If they wanted to ask about Victor, they could just ask him themselves instead of going through Yuuri.

The colours in the room slowly fizzled out until there was nothing left, nothing but a room full of people watching him expectantly. 

“Thank you for um, for coming,” Yuuri took a shaky breath as he looked around the room. It still felt surreal for there to be that many people there just to see his work. Maybe Victor had something to do with it, but it was still all his work they were viewing. Yuuri was never good at these things, always shied away from crowds, from talking in front of people. Looking around the room, he saw Victor’s warm, welcoming smile. It felt so natural, so soothing. As long as Victor was there, smiling at him like that, Yuuri knew nothing bad could happen. He had Victor. He had Mari. Both of them would keep him safe in a crowded place, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain the theme for the art in this exhibition. I know it all seems to be centred around a not so anonymous figure skater,” Yuuri smiled as a lilac purple chuckle fluttered into the air, “But I think it’s more than just that. For me, these paintings represent… growth. Finding yourself. They’re each memories of someone who came into my life and changed me for the better. He helped me find my voice, and find what I really wanted to display in my art. Hope, happiness.”

Yuuri glanced over at his sister, seeing her supportive smile, “I uh, I’ve always painted what I see. That hasn’t changed. But maybe the way I see things isn’t so dim anymore. Victor’s shown me patience, excitement… love. And I hope my art can reflect that.”

As Yuuri was stepping away, he felt a tug on his arm, suddenly dragged away from everyone and pulled to an empty corridor. It wasn’t a great speech, he knew, but he wasn’t expecting to be dragged away. Looking up, he saw Victor’s soft blue eyes looking back at him, so serious, his gaze so intense it seemed to burn into Yuuri’s skin. “Victor?”

Barely a second passed before Victor was pulling Yuuri into his arms, their lips locked together in an intense kiss. It didn’t matter where they were, who could catch them. Nothing mattered when Victor held Yuuri like that, when his lips were on his, so soft and sweet, but so filled with passion. Yuuri gripped the back of Victor’s suit coat, keeping him close as he lost himself in the moment, a moment so perfectly them. Two halves of a whole coming together, sharing each other, who knew just one kiss could mean so much?

“You said love,” Victor’s voice was barely a whisper, his lips trailing away from Yuuri’s and along his jaw, leaving plumes of lilac in their wake.

“In for a penny, in for a pound?” Yuuri chuckled breathlessly, tilting his head as Victor’s lips brushed along his skin, “We’re really gonna get caught this time, Victor.”

“Let’s go back to the onsen,” Victor was quickly breaking Yuuri’s walls down, making him want nothing more than to fall apart in his arms, to give himself over completely. 

“I can’t,” Yuuri’s breath caught as Victor’s fingers brushed over his chest, exploring his body over his clothes, “I-I can’t leave my own event…”

But he wanted to. He wanted to so badly when their breath was mingling together in pale purples and aquas, turning into something beautiful and entirely them. Victor knew the effect he was having. So unfair, so cruel, but Yuuri wouldn’t tell him to stop. He couldn’t possibly. Victor’s tongue ran gently along Yuuri’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine as he whispered against Yuuri’s ear, a purple fog obscuring his vision, “Please, Yuuri?”

Yuuri let his eyes close, leaning against Victor’s warm body, “I… okay, whatever you want…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's almost over ;-; Thank you again so much for all the support this story's gotten, it's been so much fun to put together!
> 
> All that's left is our boys' happily ever after :3


	7. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's up later than I wanted and my main reason is uh... was watching Yuri on Ice with some people in prep for the concert. Anyway! We end this love story with... well, some debauchery. Not necessary to read for the story, so if you're not into smut, feel free to sit this one out.

**_Pride; A feeling of deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements._ **

 

“That’s the last of it,” Victor declared as he gently placed the box atop a mountain of others. 

“You really didn’t have to go to any trouble. I could’ve brought them all up myself,” Yuuri smiled shyly as he watched Victor, a sheen of sweat beginning to appear on his skin. He didn’t look tired or frustrated, though. No, Victor’s smile had never been so bright as he practically bounced around the living room. Their living room. Sure, the mountain of boxes made it hard to evaluate just how their living room would normally look, but it was theirs. Victor was letting him stay here.

Yuuri wasn’t sure what to do with himself at first, looking around the apartment, trying to get used to the change of scenery. The onsen was much bigger, but Yuuri’s space there had been a lot smaller. This was more space than he was used to having to himself. Sure, he was sharing it with Victor, but that wasn’t the same. 

Was there something you were supposed to do when you moved? Yuuri had always lived in the same space before. He’d never had to pack his things and take it somewhere different. Until now. Were the customs he wasn’t aware of? Was he meant to do or say something, or was this just… it now? There were so many things he wasn’t sure of, and he didn’t want to get this wrong. Victor had invited him to travel across the world with him, to live with him. This was a big deal, and more than anything, Yuuri didn’t want to mess it up.

The room was mostly bare with little knick knacks to remind him that this was Victor’s home. A dog bed sat in the corner along with a bunch of toys. There were a few pictures hanging around the room. Most of them were Makkachin, some with Victor by her side. Yuuri recognised a few skaters in other pictures. Another picture contained the image of two older women with their arms wrapped around a young Victor. Their smiles were bright, Victor looking proud with a gold medal around his neck and long silver hair falling into his eyes.

Yuuri felt strong, familiar arms wrapping around his waist from behind, Victor’s chin resting against his shoulder, “You okay?”

“Just a lot to get used to,” Yuuri admitted, leaning back against Victor’s warmth, his eyes never leaving the unfamiliar image as curiosity got the better of him, “Who’re they?”

Looking up at the photo, Victor hummed softly, “My parents. They usually only make it to the Russia competitions, but they’re always there,” He chuckled softly, pressing a delicate kiss against Yuuri’s shoulder, “They have this banner they made when I was a kid. It’s old and tattered, but they bring it every time.”

“They sound nice,” Yuuri brushed a hand gently over Victor’s, “I’m glad you have people who care about you. After seeing you so sad, it’s nice to know it wasn’t always like that.”

Victor gently turned Yuuri in his arms, holding him close, “My life is great. I can’t complain. I’ve just spent so much time focussing on my career, I missed the important things.”

“Like this?” Yuuri smiled shyly, mostly teasing. It was always fun to see the softer side of Victor. After so many years seeing him skating, so serious about his passion, it was nice to be able to just hold him, hear him talk about the things that made him happy. Victor used to be something so far out of reach, but now he was right there. Like a dream come to life.

“Just like this,” Victor was pulling Yuuri closer and instinct immediately kicked in, Yuuri’s hand resting against his cheek, soft skin beneath his fingertips as their lips brushed together. It was a sensation Yuuri had denied himself for so long, had told himself was something only he wanted, but when Victor held him like that, when he could feel Victor’s smile, he couldn’t deny they both wanted this, wanted each other. It was crazy for him to have ever doubted it. 

Yuuri’s lips followed Victor’s as he pulled away from the kiss, not ready for the perfect moment to end just yet. Victor chuckled softly, resting their heads together, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one?” Yuuri couldn’t hide the curiosity in his voice, “You’ve done so much for me already.”

There was no way Victor could possibly deny it. He’d swept into Yuuri’s life like a whirlwind, brought his life spiralling into something Yuuri never could’ve expected. His love for his art was rejuvenated thanks to the help Victor had given him and his neverending support. But it was more than that. Victor had given Yuuri someone to turn to, someone who saw him at his darkest and offered him light. Someone who had given Yuuri happiness beyond measure, colouring his world in shades of lilac and breathing love into his life, making it worth living. But it didn’t end there, Yuuri had been given this opportunity to travel the world and see things he never would’ve been able to see before, an opportunity to expand his horizons. 

All of this was because of Victor. 

“Just trust me, this isn’t a big deal,” Victor assured, taking Yuuri’s hand in his own as he pulled him down a hallway and into an empty room. 

Yuuri frowned as he stepped into the room. It was similar to the size of his bedroom back home, but there was nothing in it. No boxes, no furniture, nothing. Yuuri gently let a finger brush along the wall, looking out the window and seeing just how high up they were, the traffic slowly trailing by in the street down below, “Okay, you’ve lost me. What are you showing me?”

Victor raised an eyebrow, watching Yuuri from the doorway, “Your new studio.”

“...What?”

“I’ve never had a use for this room. This place has always been too big for just me and Makka,” Victor shrugged, “So I thought this would be a good space for you to set up all your paints and canvases. Not that I’d mind you painting anywhere else, I just figured you liked having a certain space for it…”

Yuuri could practically see Victor’s uncertainty, watching as this otherwise perfect man floundered for the right words. He was flustered, worried he’d said something wrong. Victor Nikiforov was rambling. There was a blush slowly creeping up Victor’s skin, the shades of purple escaping his lips shifting every now and then to match his tone of voice. Yuuri could’ve watched it all day, but he knew Victor was nervous, was waiting for him to say something, and as adorable as it was, Yuuri couldn’t leave him wondering.

Closing the distance between them, Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose and smiling fondly as Victor scrunched it up in response, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve more, but this is all I can offer.”

“There is one thing…” Yuuri bit his lip as he averted his gaze. He’d already gotten so much from Victor, was it really fair to ask for one more thing? But then again, Yuuri knew he wouldn’t be able to survive in this place for long if he didn’t, “Could you maybe… teach me Russian? If I’m gonna live here, I need to know how to talk to people.”

Victor’s smirk was positively wicked, his fingers moving to rest gently on Yuuri’s hips, “I can definitely do that,” As their bodies shifted closer, Yuuri felt Victor’s lips against his neck, letting out a content sigh and leaning into his warmth, “Lesson one; ‘Hochu tebya.’”

Yuuri had no idea what the words meant, but his faith in Victor was unwavering. Besides, the lilt in Victor’s voice was so much more obvious when he spoke Russian. Yuuri couldn’t get enough of it, “Hochu… tebya…?”

Yuuri’s pronunciation left a lot to be desired, but it didn’t seem to phase Victor, his fingers brushing under the hem of Yuuri’s shirt and along his sides, “Hochesh menya?”

Victor’s voice seemed to change when he spoke Russian. Or maybe it was just when he was like this, his fingers reaching for any part of Yuuri’s body they could get a hold of, his lips gently moving along his neck, keeping Yuuri close and driving him just a little crazy. The purple was deeper, feeling the room with a violet cloud as he spoke. Yuuri wasn’t sure if Victor wanted him to repeat what he said, but he was trying to learn, so he did anyway, “Hochesh… Hochesh menya?”

“Oh my god, yes, Yuuri,” A soft groan escaped Victor as he spoke, a purple so dark but so vibrant filling the air. Yuuri wanted to see it again. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Victor was moving his hands under Yuuri’s thighs, wrapping Yuuri’s legs around his waist as he lifted him off the ground.

Yuuri laughed in surprise, his arms quickly wrapping around Victor to keep himself balanced, “What? What did you make me say?”

Barely a moment later, Yuuri heard a door close behind them and felt Victor gently drop him onto a soft mattress. This really wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but he should’ve been. Victor got playful, Victor got needy, and Yuuri couldn’t deny that he felt it, too. As Victor crawled over him, his lips returning to their favourite spot against his neck, Victor murmured softly, “You asked if I wanted you. I do…”

Victor’s teeth grazed along Yuuri’s neck, sending heated pleasure straight through him. Yuuri’s gentle groan came out dark, more blue than green, filling the air around them like the room was their canvas and Yuuri wanted more than ever to make art with Victor. 

He was always in control, pinning Yuuri to walls, his fingers wandering along Yuuri’s skin, and it was nice. It really was, but Yuuri wanted to turn the tables, wanted to make more pretty purples appear in the air, a symbol of what he could make Victor feel, but something only he could see. Yuuri wanted to know every hue that could possibly spill from those pretty lips. The need to know, his curiosity fuelling him as he hooked a leg around Victor’s waist and flipped their bodies until he was pinning Victor down instead.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice was breathless, nearly the same lilac Yuuri had grown so fond of, only slightly darker. A tinge of desire transforming the colour.

Yuuri smiled, “You’re meant to be teaching me, so I want to hear you say the words. Tell me what you want.”

The blush raising on Victor’s cheeks was perfect, so beautiful. He was always beautiful. Yuuri was beginning to enjoy just getting Victor into new positions to see how stunning he would look. But right now, there were too many clothes obscuring his view of that perfect form beneath him, and that simply wouldn’t do. As Yuuri moved closer, his fingers brushing over the hem of Victor’s shirt before he finally pulled the fabric away, tossing it aside, he could see the blue in those mesmerising eyes were darker, like the stormy skies of Hasetsu in winter. 

Yuuri pulled off his own shirt before moving to brush delicate kisses along Victor’s chest, fingers dancing along his sides, “You’re a work of art… really, nothing could ever compare to you, the real thing…” 

It was still hard to believe that he was there, with Victor, but Yuuri had never dreamed anything like this could really happen, that Victor would be lying beneath him, soft breathy sighs escaping him as Yuuri’s lips dragged along his skin. It wasn’t enough, though. Those little sounds of Victor’s breaths were pretty, but he wanted more. He didn’t just want pale pastels, he wanted deep colours, colours that expressed their desires, colours that contrasted their needs. Yuuri knew the best way to get what he wanted, and he had no intention of stopping until the room was painted with the all colours of Victor’s needy voice. 

Settling himself on Victor’s lap, Yuuri smiled against his skin, allowing his tongue to flick delicately over a pert nipple and immediately feeling Victor’s reaction beneath him. The catch of breath was nice, but not enough. Yuuri directed all his attention to the area, licking, sucking, nipping at Victor’s sensitive skin, and suddenly he was feeling fingers tangling in his hair, soft moans rumbling from Victor’s throat like thunder, deep mauve painting the air between them, “Yuuri…”

Pulling away from the sensitive skin, Yuuri looked up at Victor, watching the way his silver lashes fluttered against his skin, “Wish I could paint you like this… keep this forever…”

Victor’s chuckle was deep, breathless, his fingers gentle in Yuuri’s hair, “I don’t think art critics want to see me like this.”

“I wouldn’t want them to,” Yuuri admitted, gently nipping at Victor’s skin as he moved down his body, kissing delicately above his navel, “It’d be just for me.”

“Maybe I should pose nude for you sometime,” Victor’s voice was filled with that playful lilt he used when he was teasing, but just the thought of being able to paint Victor like that was sending new waves of excitement through Yuuri. He could picture it so perfectly, Victor on the bed, naked. Maybe he’d be touching himself, maybe he’d be moaning Yuuri’s name and sending plumes of purple into the air, his head thrown back, toes curled in pleasure. 

Yuuri took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Anything for you, Yuuri,” And he knew Victor meant it. There was nothing Victor wouldn’t do for him, and it was such an incredible, powerful feeling, all Yuuri wanted to do was shower him with love and let Victor know how important he was, how grateful Yuuri was to have him.

Yuuri let his fingers brush under the waistband of Victor’s pants, “Russian, remember? You’re supposed to be teaching me,” He left a gently kiss against Victor’s hip, “Tell me what you want.”

Victor’s intense gaze stared back at Yuuri, his voice low and soft as he finally spoke, “Trahni menya.”

Yuuri couldn’t resist that accent, the way the words rolled off Victor’s tongue like poetry. Yuuri nipped gently at Victor’s hip, groaning softly against his skin and watching as the dark turquoise melted over him, claiming Victor as his own for the briefest of moments, “What does that mean?”

Victor chuckled, hooking a leg around Yuuri’s, “It means, ‘fuck me.’”

“Oh,” Yuuri didn’t know why he hadn’t expected Victor to say it like that, but it was hot, so hot. Yuuri left another gentle kiss against Victor’s hip, “Say it in Russian again?”

It was pretty obvious that Yuuri was putty in Victor’s hands when he spoke Russian. The colours, the accent, the sound of his voice. It all sent waves of arousal through Yuuri, and he wanted to hear it, wanted to just listen to Victor speak Russian all day long. He could see how living here was going to make things a little more difficult for him, but he didn’t care. Hearing Victor talk like that every day would be nothing short of a blessing. As Victor uttered those beautiful Russian words again, Yuuri wasted no time dragging down the fabric of Victor’s pants, enjoying how needy he seemed to be as he shifted his hips, helping Yuuri speed up the process.

Victor was stunning. It was like a mantra that constantly went through Yuuri’s mind. He didn’t deserve someone so unbelievably beautiful, a walking work of art completely at his disposal. He could do whatever he wanted to Victor, and he knew it. Victor was his, and Yuuri felt just as lost in him. There was no one else he’d rather be with, no one else he’d ever feel so completely safe with. Yuuri was tugging off the last of his clothes as Victor reached for a drawer beside the bed, pulling out everything Yuuri would need to prepare himself, and god, Yuuri had never wanted anyone more in his life. 

As Yuuri prepared, he could feel Victor’s eyes on him, smiling shyly as he met the gentle gaze, “What?”

Victor shook his head, “Nothing. You’re always saying how beautiful I am. I just wish you could see how gorgeous you are.”

Yuuri knew he was blushing, but he didn’t care. Victor Nikiforov was showering him with praise, and he wanted nothing more than to return the favour, to remind Victor just how unbelievably perfect he was. He couldn’t put it into words. There weren’t words to concisely describe Victor Nikiforov, just like there weren’t words that could ever truly capture the shades of purple that left his lips with every sound he made. Victor was indescribable but utterly wonderful. Yuuri could feel himself falling hard and fast. It might’ve scared him before, but looking into those eyes, hearing Victor say such sweet things, he knew he wasn’t alone.

Yuuri didn’t want to waste anymore time. He wanted to become one with Victor, just like the paintings, to let their colours blend together. Two halves of a whole. Yuuri settled himself between Victor’s legs, his fingers brushing delicately along his thighs, and slowly, ever so slowly, Yuuri pressed himself into Victor. So tight, so overwhelming, Yuuri’s grip on Victor’s thighs grew tighter, more desperate as he tried to hold himself back from just fucking into him, thinking about how easy it would be, how good it would feel.

Yuuri’s soft moans filled the air with deep blues, biting his lip as he tried to stop himself, to slow himself down as he pressed further into Victor, the heat enveloping him, driving him crazy, “Y-You okay?”

“Fuck…” Victor finally spoke, the simple word breathy, sending a pastel violet into the air as he adjusted to the feeling, “Davai… do it, Yuuri. Please…” 

Yuuri could tell it was taking all of Victor’s brainpower to switch from Russian to English, and really, how could he say no when Victor was trying so hard just for him? Besides, there had never been a command Yuuri had wanted to follow more in his life. Slowly, Yuuri drew himself back, watching Victor’s expression as he rocked his hips, the drag of friction as their bodies melted together sending waves of pleasure through him, and oh god, Victor was moaning again, those sweet, beautiful purples filling the air, painting the room. Blues joined them as Yuuri’s groans blended with Victor’s, a colourful cloud of blue and purple mixing, mingling, becoming one. Something so beautiful and so uniquely them.

“Glubzhe…” Victor’s voice was intense, deep as his moans, his legs around Yuuri’s waist becoming tighter as he grew more needy.

Yuuri didn’t know what the word meant, but he followed instinct, moving faster, fucking into Victor more deeply as his need grew. He wanted more of those colours, more of this feeling, more of Victor. Yuuri was so lost in the moment, in his need to fill Victor completely, to hear those moans and to paint the world with their sounds, their love. 

Watching Victor, seeing him fall apart beneath him, his mouth opening and closing in silent moans, his silver hair like moonlight damp with a gentle sheen of sweat from their endeavours and oh god, Yuuri could imagine painting this, could imagine all the colours, the way Victor’s body was completely his, giving into Yuuri’s ever thrust, desperate for him, needy. Victor was stunning. Yuuri couldn’t possibly look away. 

“Eshyo! Yuuri…” The way Victor mewled, Yuuri’s name moaned deep and beautifully from those lips, Yuuri was lost. He was in so deep and he never wanted to get out. Yuuri was Victor’s completely. He could tell Victor was lost in the Russian, that he had no intention of figuring out how to translate what he was saying anymore, and Yuuri didn’t care. It sounded amazing when Victor spoke it, and he liked to think they both wanted the same things.

Yuuri soon fell out of rhythm, pounding into Victor with need, desire, fuelled by nothing more than want. Victor was his. The world would know soon enough, and Yuuri loved being able to say it, to claim him.  

Yuuri heard Victor’s moans become more desperate, felt him tighten around him, and Yuuri was rushing to join him in his ecstacy. The room was so beautiful, their colours surrounding them, their needs consuming them, and it took Yuuri no time at all to fall apart, Victor’s name falling from his lips as he slowly came down from the pleasure.

The room that was once filled with brilliant blues and purples was quiet save for their heavy breaths. Yuuri didn’t want to move, not when everything felt so right, his body melting into Victor’s. But he knew they couldn’t stay like that forever, no matter how nice it was. Reluctantly, he pulled away, whining sadly as the cold air hit his skin. Victor was immediately reaching for him, “Mm nyet…”

The Russian was still spilling from Victor’s lips more naturally than anything else. Yuuri chuckled softly, taking Victor’s hand and brushing a kiss against his fingers, “Need to clean up.”

Victor whined, reluctantly sitting up, “Okay… stay here,” Victor’s lips were sweet, soft as they pressed against Yuuri’s just for a moment, and then Victor was getting to his feet and walking less than elegantly out of the room. Yuuri bit his lip as he tried to stop himself laughing.

His life had changed so drastically so quickly. Yuuri had never expected to have all this. He had hated who he was not so long ago, had grown tired of his paintings, feeling like they all were the same, boring, dull. Things were different now. He had someone to count on, someone who made him happy, someone who made Yuuri see something special in his work. Yuuri could only hope this would last forever.

As Victor cleaned them both, he laid down beside Yuuri and pulled him into his arms, “Hm welcome to Russia, Yuuri.”

Nuzzling into Victor’s neck, feeling warm, safe, loved, Yuuri knew that whatever came their way, this new chapter of his life would be filled with all the colours of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Hochu tebya - I want you  
> Hochesh menya? - Do you want me?  
> Trahni menya - Fuck me  
> Davai - Do it  
> Glubzhe - Deeper  
> Eshyo - More  
> Nyet - No


End file.
